Love And Other Things That Happen When You Don't Hate Someone
by seriousish
Summary: When her girlfriend Naomi becomes addicted to V, Tara will do anything to get her clean. Even fulfill Pam's every whim. And Pam has a lot of whims…
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This fic diverges from canon directly after episode 4x06 and was betaed by Fembuck.**

* * *

"Girls, there's no need to squabble. There's plenty of me to go around."

In a blur, Pam was on them. Tara was knocked aside like she'd momentarily been sucked into a tornado, while Naomi was thrown to the ground with Pam astride her.

"You love me long time," Pam enunciated, her smile drawing the rotted flesh of her face into a deathshead. She cut the pads of two fingers on the razor blade of her grin, then forced them down Naomi's throat.

The moment Tara's head cleared, she tried to get up.

"You keep your ass in the dirt, breather!" Pam warned, her hand still gagging Naomi. "You should be thanking me for just giving away the primo shit. By the time I'm done with her, she'll be an instant addict. And my Maker's the Sheriff of Louisiana. I'm sure you have some experience with addicts; imagine one without a single dealer."

"She'll…" Tara scrambled for a solution. "She'll go cold turkey. I'll help her."

"Oh, will she?" Pam shoved her fingers deeper. "You ever seen a veehead strung out? They seize so hard their backs break. That's why doctors like to wean 'em off it. Of course, for that you need blood, and she won't get one drop until you _fucking fix me!"_

"Alright! Alright." Tara bit down the urge to run at Pam and break her in half like the twig she was thin as. "Just don't hurt her."

Pam pushed Naomi off her fingers, leaving her sucking on air. Naomihit the ground, squeezing her thighs together, clawing at her own breasts. Her high was pulling her along like a freight train.

"I'd say you have a day before she well and truly comes down." Pam gave Naomi a little kick, which the human didn't feel. "Tomorrow night. I want my face unfucked or I'll turn your whole family into junkies—if they aren't already."

She turned to leave, but then thought better of it. She kicked Naomi across the face, then stood for a moment, watching with some satisfaction as the vampire blood in the woman healed the cut her kick had left.

* * *

For the first hour, Tara looked for alternatives. She called Lafayette to see if he had a V stash, she asked Jason if he had any left, she even called Jessica and asked if there was any chance she could get a syringe filled. None of them could or would help her.

Naomi was burning with energy, so much so that she couldn't even move, just laid on her back, kicking and moaning like a dog having a dream. Tara put her in the backseat of the car and drove to the magic shop. She read all night and all day, hoping for something. Because when she didn't, she saw Naomi dead in front of her, like Eggs.

Finally, she came across a mention of the Fae. It was too promising to ignore. She called Sookie, and got as much confirmation as she could out of the reticent fairy that she could help. Then she called Fangtasia, leaving a message for Pam with Ginger.

The moment the sun went down, pink still in the sky, Pam poked her head through the door. "Knock knock," she said, taking obvious relish in terrifying Tara with her horror movie face.

"Get in here," Tara told her humorlessly.

Pam took her veiled hat off as she came in, brandishing the advancing decay on her face like battle scars. She took so much pleasure in the fear it brought that Tara suspected the only reason she wanted her skin back was vanity. Fucking vampires.

"Oooh," Pam drawled, spotting Sookie in an unusually modest dress. "Decided to try and bribe me?"

"She can fix you, so you can fix Naomi."

Pam smiled, the muscles of her cheek visibly growing taut. "And how is your… yellow fever? I hear some people become very _excited _on V. Have you been giving her enough chocolate or is she still hungry?"

Tara resisted the urge to physically wipe the smirk off Pam's face, or try at least, but she couldn't stop herself from sneering, "You know, for all you vamps complain about humans hating on you, y'all some racist motherfuckers."

Pam rolled her eyes. "Like I care what misgivings one anthill has against another. Maybe I just think you're cute when you're angry? Or maybe you fucked up my face and should _fix it _already!"

Tara waved for Sookie to come closer. The blonde did, reluctantly. After so much time spent with the amnesiac Eric, it was a shock to see Pam—threatening both in appearance and action.

"You know how good I'm supposed to look," Pam told her sharply. "Get to it."

Sookie concentrated on summoning the light. It didn't work at first. She talked to distract Pam, all the time hoping for her fingers to light up. "Just so you know, I think it's really awful what you've done to Tara's Sapphic friend."

"Objection noted. Face! Now!"

The sudden rush of adrenaline from Pam yelling in her face did it. Sookie's fingers glowed softly, and she raised them gently to Pam's desiccated face. She focused her energy, and then she let it loose.

When the light faded, Pam didn't even look for a mirror. She turned to Tara and **g**lamoured her. "Human! How do I look?"

Tara stood there, face frozen for a moment in outraged realization at what was being done to her before her features relaxed into neutrality. "You look beautiful as always, Pam."

Pam smiled, feeling her own face for confirmation. She was smooth and cool as marble. "Well, ain't that nice?" she asked, releasing Tara. The woman swore under her breath once she had her facilities back. "Thanks for a lovely evening, ladies. I need to go. There's some new lipstick I've been dying to try, and I'd really like to fuck someone without traumatizing them too much."

"What about the V?" Tara interjected, just as she started to blur.

Pam stopped a few feet away, Sookie rocking nervously on her heels, Tara crossing her arms resolutely. The vampire turned around.

"Scuse me?"

"Give us enough V to help Naomi," Tara said firmly.

"Oh, sweetums… I know Obama's president now, but _it doesn't work like that. _See, you curing me just means I won't kill you and your whole family, and don't think I didn't want to. As far as Lucy Liu goes, you're on your own."

Sookie started to step up and say that wasn't fair, but Tara barred her path with an outstretched arm. "Fine," Tara said, "but you'll at least let us buy Naomi's V."

"Knock yourself out," Pam replied affably. "But you do know where most of that shit comes from, right? Baby vamps with weak-ass blood who can't pay their mortgage any other way. I'm a hundred fucking years old. My blood is _ambrosia. _Your girl's going into withdrawal, Tara, and all you've got to give her is sugar water."

This time she enjoyed walking away at normal speed, swaying her ass and pushing the double doors of the shop open. Tara followed her out into the moonlight, over Sookie's hissed objection.

"Alright then. What's the going rate for your blood?"

Pam didn't even look at her. "You couldn't afford me."

"Why, how much did you charge back when you were hooking?"

Pam stopped to look at her.

"Inflation ain't that bad," Tara told her.

Pam made a half-hearted dash toward her, hand outstretched for her throat, but stopped partway as if only kidding. "I was a madame, you little cunt. I _never _wore a wannabe Hooters outfit at anyone's bar and grill."

"What. The fuck. Do you want?" Tara demanded. "Because I'll do anything."

She knew what was coming next. Pam looked her over. She looked at everyone like they were meat, human and vampire, but there was casual interest and then there was her imagining how someone felt, sounded, tasted.

Pam smiled. "Make you a deal, hon. I'll go give geisha girl a little trickle, then I'm going to come back here and glamour you. After that… well. You did say anything." Pam's fangs flipped down, clicking against her human teeth.

Tara couldn't speak. Only nod dimly. She had to go through with it. She'd survived this shit before.

They went back to the shop. To Naomi, who'd turned pale and sweaty and now had dark bags under her eyes. Pam bit her own finger and let Naomi suck on for a few seconds before pulling away, leaving Naomi whining like a baby deprived of bottle. But she looked healthier. Tara only had a moment to squeeze her shoulder before Pam's eyes filled hers…

* * *

She was still woozy from the bout of unconsciousness, so when Tara woke up, her first thought was _Ah fuck, I went gay to get away from this shit._

She was in someone's fucking basement—a nice basement, as far as it went—and she'd been upstairs recently enough for certain things to linger. The smell of blood and alcohol, the sound of the sound barrier casually being broken. Vampires. Fucking vampires.

"Welcome to Fangtasia!" Pam called, walking down the stairs in heels only a vampire could balance in. "The cover charge is fifty bucks, but we'll waive it just this once."

"You take all the girls here?" Tara asked, burying her very real fear in sarcasm. It was easy to forget what was going to happen when she was spewing insults. "Not exactly Inspiration Point."

A slow smile caressed Pam's mouth. "As you may have noticed if you weren't busy coming up with _devastating _one-liners, you are now wearing the official Fangtasia shirt and trousers, both with a 100% poly-cotton blend and machine-washable. As a Fangtasia employee, you will be responsible for the care and upkeep of your uniform. Your appearance reflects on our business, and furthermore, on us. So please, don't take the sleeves off to show your tattoos."

"You want me to _wait tables_?" Tara asked incredulously.

"Darlin', do you really think I need to blackmail someone to get sex _or _blood? An off-the-books employee is much more valuable. Try running a business with Obamacare makin' you pay for every third-grader's dentist."

"You really are a vampire," Tara observed.

"Thanks. Get to work. And, just because I'm a boon of human compassion, you can keep your tips. Break one glass and that's what it'll come out of."

Tara only realized she was sweating when she put a hand to her forehead. "You could've just fuckin' told me you wanted a temp."

"And miss the fun of smelling how wet you were when you thought I was gonna ravish you?" Pam's tongue flicked out to wet her lips. "Try to get used to having an employee uniform that doesn't cut off circulation to your tits."

* * *

The truth was, Pam was almost right. Tara almost would've preferred getting sucked dry to working at Fangtasia. Merlotte's may have had some cracker-ass clientele and skirts that had her getting a bikini wax every week, but at least Lala and Terry and Sook made the hours pass. All the other employees at Fangtasia were either fangers or fanger groupies. Half the customers thought they were Dracula, making the same damn 'dark and mysterious' come-ons like she'd never heard an Eastern European accent before. And they tipped like motherfuckers.

And of course, because it was her fucking life, things went from bad to worse. A week in, Naomi showed no signs of kicking the habit. Tara's feet were aching from being seven hours on the job. She was thirty minutes away from going home so she could try to get to sleep while the sun was shining through the 's when she went in back to get some clean dishes and found a fanger waiting for her, dressed in the emo wear of an unimaginative baby vamp.

"The lion has fallen in love with the lamb," he told her.

"Okay," she replied.

He stepped forward, hand on his heart, baring his soul so hard he almost gave away his New Jersey accent. "Your scent, it's like a drug to me. You're my own personal brand of heroin. I feel like I can't control myself around you."

"So fuck off," she told him.

She turned for the door, but with a blur, he was in front of her. Tara backed up. Great. She was going to die because of some foofy-haired Ann Rice bitch. At least Pam killing her would've had some dignity.

Tara stared at him for a moment, wide-eyed and apprehensive, but then her survival instinct kicked in with a vengeance. Fuck Pam, she thought. Fuck Sookie. Fuck vampires, and fuck this guy. She wasn't going out like the blonde with a big rack in a slasher movie. Tara hauled off and threw a punch that knocked some blood from his eye, gave him something to see in the mirror the next time he checked his tan. He screamed and slapped her and of course she got the worst of it. She went down and thought _okay, that's enough fucking up his pretty boy face for today._

He was saying something, but she ignored it until suddenly Pam was there behind him. She took careful grip of his head, twisted it to the side, and let him fall.

"Tara is _mine_," she said, almost petulantly, like a child who'd had her toy stolen during recess. Then she pulled Tara to her feet, without much concern for how the action twinged Tara's aching joints.

"I'm okay," Tara said impotently.

"I didn't ask." Pam gave the vampire enough of a kick to roll him onto his back. He laid facedown.

"You killed him," Tara said. Then, more surprised: "You killed him for me."

"Don't flatter yourself. He'll be fine once someone turns his head back the right way. Which is not going to happen until he's sobered up. Fucking vampires. If it's not Hep-D, it's this shit."

"Yeah, vampires are the worst," Tara agreed sardonically.

"Get the fuck back to work," Pam told her.

Tara tried not to think about it. This was her life now. Putting up with vampires and Maenads and shifters and whatever other shit could fit in Louisiana.

But there were only so many more come-ons and leers and bottles of Tru Blood being nosily devoured she could take. Tarawent in back to wash dishes and ended up nearly breaking a stack of them because her hands were shaking.

"Take the week off," Pam told her. Tara whirled around to find the vampire in her blind spot. She wondered how long blondie had been watching her.

"What?"

"You're no good to me being all Lifetime movie. Someone tried to kill you, get over it. Go home, give yourself a whipped cream enema or whatever it is humans do. It's not like I'll be needing you."

The thought crossed Tara's mind, as she turned to leave, that maybe Pam wasn't such a bitch after all. After a moment she dismissed the thought and waitedfor the other shoe to drop.

"But you still need that blood for Chun Li, right?"

"Her name's Naomi. Is it that hard to remember or are you just going senile in your old age?"

Pam laughed with more mirth than anyone could possibly feel, waiting for Tara to turn before she let it die. "Our friend with the hair bought up a good point. No one's had your blood in a while. And these fangbangers… I know it's not politically correct, but I swear, the more they're bitten, the sourer their blood gets. Someone like you, unbitten except for one youthful indiscretion… I think you'd be delicious." Pam watched as Tara crossed her arms impatiently. "Humans. You never know how to take a compliment. I'll skip to the point. You give me some of your blood, I'll give _Naomi _some of mine."

"Fine," Tara agreed readily. "Deal. You gotta syringe?"

Pam's fangs popped, muffling her words a little. "What?"

"I said it's a deal. But we didn't say anything about you biting me. I'll fill a syringe, you can have it. You don't touch me."

Pam laughed again, this time drolly enough to be believable. "And what's to stop me from glamouring you into letting me drink as much as I want and thinking it's your idea?"

"Because that wouldn't be any fun for you. I'm not saying you have some Klingon code of honor shit, but you got some kinda sense of sportsmanship inthere."

"Why, because I don't find it becomin' of an 'apex predator' to guzzle down a sex worker? God, Eric told me I'd get a reputation. Very well. Don't let me get to second base. Just remember that my fangs would feel a whole lot better than a cold little needle."

* * *

Pam watched Tara draw her own blood—she'd worked at blood drives back before vampires came out of the coffin, when the Count Dracula jokes had at least a chance of being funny. The blonde did it with forced zeal, like a gay guy wanting to fit in at a stag party. Trying to freak her out, Tara figured. Look at the big bad vampire, getting off on all the _blood_.

When she was done, Tara handed the syringe to Pam, who took it sweetly, thanked her, and licked the needle of its single blood droplet. And then**, **Tara went home.

Naomi was doing better, but just barely. She'd been in and out of consciousness since that first skyscraper high, the waning V leaving her slack and shrunken, like a dried out sponge. She stayed in bed, slept when she could, laid motionless when she couldn't. Tara left the radio on for her, played some of her favorite podcasts when they updated. When Naomi got her dose from Pam—always delivered in person, always sucked from a coy little boxer's bandage on Pam's hand—Naomi wouldrecover enough to talk a little, but Tara could never make heads or tails of their conversations. Sometimes she didn't know who Tara was, sometimes she talked bashfully like they'd just started dating, sometimes she was as warm with Tara as an old married couple.

Tara figured she was still coming down from her high, Pam's little doses keeping her from freefall.

She went back to work—_work, _there was a fucking euphemism for you, strutting around Fangtasia like she belonged there—and put up with the few regulars who recognized her and realized she had **been **gone. At the end of the day, she brought the recipes to Pam's office. When she entered the room, she felt a buzz of electricity, and she knew that Pam was going to make a play. She could feel it.

"Tara," Pam said, rolling the word on her tongue just so they both understood each other. "Go get me a drink from the fridge."

Tara went to the fridge, opened it up. She knew Pam didn't mean the Tru Blood. She'd gotten chewed up enough over not warming it up to know it tasted like shit cold. Pam meant the nice little vial of blood, real blood, with the emphatic Post-It note on it saying "Pam's!" Heart under the exclamation point.

She picked it up, the cold seeming to burn her hand, and brought it to Pam. The blonde took it, thanked her kindly, and drank it in one long, steady gulp.

"Ahhh," Pam said, licking her lips. "That hit the spot."

"You should try it fresh," Tara taunted mercilessly.

Pam looked at her with eyes that were full of sinful speculation. Despite herself, Tara's mind swum with visions of herself being pinned onto the desk and _devoured. _

"I want another serving."

"Sorry, tap's closed."

"I'll give you another week off work."

"I don't work, I don't get tips."

"Fine. Paid vacation. A week off work and a hundred dollars."

"Two hundred."

"I've had better."

"Not from me."

They stared at each other. The look in Pam's eyes darkened.

"Two hundred," Pam acquiesced. "But you come in tomorrow to help with the weekend rush."

"Fine," Tara agreed. "They tip better then anyhow."

Nothing was ever that easy. The morning Tara came to work, she went into the locker room to change and was interrupted by Pam, just when she was in her underwear, of course. Tara faced Pam, letting her get a good look.

"Something new for the employee uniform," Pam told her, and held up a garter belt.

Tara snatched it out of Pam's hand and began to wrap it around her thigh before Pam got any bright ideas about 'helping' her out. Pam watched with copious amusement.

"And hang onto this," Pam said, tucking a vial of blood into the garter. Tara knew it was her own. "Keep that nice and warm for me."

"Yessum, missy Pamela," Tara said in her most pancake syrup accent. "But I don't know nothing about feeding no vampires!"

"Get that cute little ass to work," Pam told her with a smirk. "Or that big fat booty to work, as the case may be."

At the end of the day, Pam drank her blood. She went on and on and on, like she wanted it one drop at a time. "Nothing like hot cocoa." When she was done, Pam made the same offer as usual with the same bored disinterest, like she was deigning to accept proffered tea or something. Tara refused.

She liked the way Pam's fangs popped as she dismissed her.

She'd halfway been expecting the vamps in the bar to swarm for their queen bee, start hassling her so Pam would give them some honey, but actually they seemed to treat her with a little more respect. Maybe it was the way she carried herself. She was fighting a private war with Pam, and she'd just retaken ground that Pam thought was occupied. She wasn't surprised to find Pam shorter with her than usual, snappish. It was a relief to have someone to push against, while Naomi was just an obligation she couldn't even complain about without feeling like a hateful bitch.

So when Pam showed up at Tara's door, leaning against the wall like she didn't even want to come in, Tara was not only unsurprised, she was relieved.

"Did someone skim from the tip jar?" Tara asked, not wanting to look away from Pam and not wanting to let herself be glamoured either—so she stared at Pam's rack.

"What do you want for your blood?" Pam said, as if already bored.

"Maybe it ain't for sale."

"Bullshit," Pam enunciated slowly. "Are you just playing hard to get? Do you want me to come in there and bite your jugular like you're a common bleeder?"

"Here's a thought," Tara said. "Maybe if you go a week without any racist shit, I'll let you bite me."

Pam paused a moment. Then she just grinned. "If you want me to bite you, darlin', you don't have to pretend it's some _prize._"

Tara crossed her arms, leaned against the wall herself, and dared looking in Pam's eyes. Every nerve in her screamed that Pam could be as good as her word, just glamour her way inside and suck Tara dry, but she knew Pam better than that. She didn't (just) want to drink Tara. She wanted to win the _game._

"Alright," Pam said. "A deal's a deal. But try to go easy on the garlic for the next week. It doesn't make our heads blow up like in those stupid movies, but it makes your blood taste like shit."

"And what does eating pussy make my blood taste like?" Tara asked, just to see the look on Pam's face as the door was swung shut on her.

Tara went back to work at Fangtasia. She noted with some satisfaction the halting speech Pam had started using, the way she carefully considered every word to make sure it couldn't be turned against her. Tara doubted it really took _that _much of an effort for Pam not to be a racist shit, she was just making damn sure she wouldn't lose to a human.

The human staff of Fangtasia, vampire groupies as they were, took Tara's side, diligently reporting on what Pamsaid in private if it might hold a double meaning. There was nothing incriminating; it was just them enjoying being subversive, being a little naughty. The days rolled by, and when Thursday got there, Tara thought _I'm going to let Pam drink from me._

Not _I'm going to have to let Pam drink from me, _with the disbelief and shock that implied. Those were long-past. This was more of a**n** 'isn't that funny' twitch. She'd thought of it ahead of time, never one to want to get in over her head, but the closer the end of the week came, the more real the thought was. What if Pam didn't stop when she'd had her fill? What if Tara liked that?

End of the week. It had just flown by, lingering when Tara had to go about the dull, queasy work of squeezing Pam's blood from an eyedropper into Naomi's mouth. She knew it was unfair, but she'd started resenting the other woman. Like at some point she and Sookie and her mother had all gotten together and chosen to play the victim, while people like Tara had to shoulder every fucking thing. She bottled it up when she was around Naomi, the woman innocently tripping, but sometimes when she was out in the open, she'd look at some hillbilly shitkicker and just wish he'd say the shit she knew he was thinking so she could cave his face in. She was in Louisiana; what'd it take to get some decent hate speech going?

After all, it wasn't like she could punch out Pam.

Finally, the hour came. Pam stayed up, skipping her beauty sleep. When Tara locked up, shutting out the morning sun, Pam was there with red-rimmed eyes, not willing to wait one extra sleep to collect.

If a cobra knew it'd been milked of venom, and then knew its venom was back, Tara thought it would smile like Pam did.

"So where shall I bite you?" she asked, guessing Tara's little provision ahead of time. "My Nubian goddess… my ebony queen…"

"You're right, I am hot." Tara smiled at her. "Nothing like a nice tan, huh?"

"What can I say? In **a** land of inbred cracker motherfuckers, the BAP is queen."

"The vampire thinks I'm pretty. If only Dr. King were here to see this," Tara shot back.

"If you're done trying to convince me rap is music, feel free to take off your clothes where you want me to bite ya. I'd hate to get blood on Fangtasia property."

Tara had thought about it. Not looking forward to it, exactly, but wanting it over with. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off one sock. "You can bite my foot."

"Oh, can I?" Pam asked indolently. She nodded to a chair. "Sit."

Tara did. She'd liked the thought of Pam having to bend down like she was kissing her foot. Now she crooked her foot out, stretching her long leg like a ballerina and perching her toes on the floor. Pam's eyes followed it from heel to thigh, the veins getting thicker, deeper as they approached the meat of the body. Tara knew she was thinking of just taking her. _Do it. Do it, fanger. _She thought the words loudly, wanting to _win, _wanting to stop, wanting to be… fucked.

Pam pulled up her dress over her knees and up to her strong, creamy thighs before she knelt down, reminding Tara of the kind of pin-up model that ended up on the nose of a B-52 bomber. And now, like a cat, Pam lowered herself to Tara's foot like it was a saucer of milk. And she… sniffed.

"Don't even say nothing," Tara told her. "I buy Odor Eaters, same as anyone who stays on her feet all damned day."

"I like how you smell," Pam said. "Very… natural."

"You were expecting cocoa bean?"

"Or coffee," Pam shrugged. "Strong-ass coffee… no sugar, no milk."

"Bitch, you know you take your coffee like a drag queen, so much shit in it that it might as well be green. Take a bite; fuck's sake."

Pam's eyes flashed. Her head tilted to the side. She looked, for a moment, like a broken doll, not quite sure what to make of someone so openly sassing her. Then she stuck out her tongue and dragged it over the top of Tara's foot, pedicure to shin.

Tara shivered, not quite sure why. "What the fuck was that?"

"Just getting the blood _flowing,_" Pam said in a sardonic tone. She licked Tara's foot again, somehow doing it with such confidence and dignity that there was nothing submissive in the gesture. It was like she was taking possession of the skin she touched. And her touch—her tongue was cold and wet, but not unpleasant—more like a cold shower after being out in the hot sun all day. And as she bathed Tara's foot in her mouth, tingles ran up the human's leg like the cool air from a fan, chilling her sweat away.

"That's enough—the goddamn blood's flowing already!"

"And I bet I know where…" Pam drawled. Now she _kissed _Tara's foot, moaning happily, sucking Tara's toes into her mouth.

"Alrighty, that's enough of that shit…" Tara shifted her weight onto her other foot, trying to stand, but in a flash Pam had a strong hand pushing down hard on Tara's lower belly. It held her in place, and the pressure spread to her groin like a stream of water hitting a rock and splashing around. Tara groaned and hated herself for it.

Pam gave her a look, chin down, eyes up, fraught with ownership and want. It said that what had been promised would be taken, and there wasn't a damned thing Tara could do about it. It was the kind of look Tara would've liked to wipe off anyone else's face. It was a look that turned her on.

Pam flicked her fangs out like a switchblade and moved for Tara's warm flesh, stopping at the last moment to hover over the throbbing vein atop Tara's foot. She savored the moment, made Tara savor it too. Feel the fear, the anticipation. Then she bit down.

It hurt. Like when Tara had lost her virginity. But the pain didn't last nearly as long as that had. It faded in seconds, throbbing up moment by moment through the mist of pleasure that spread out from the bite. Pam's mouth was cold, but the blood spurting into it was hot, boiling, and Tara felt the heat of it shoot up her leg and enter her crotch. She gasped. Panted as Pam's slender fingers alighted on her calf, threaded delicately up the well-developed muscles of her leg, the sensitive skin behind her knee and under her thigh, all the way up to her—

Pam's fingers slid off her inner thigh, into her pocket to bring out a compact and check her lips for excess blood. Her teeth had withdrawn from Tara so smoothly that she felt their absence more than anything else. Like the soft relinquishing of a cock slipping out of her sex, having been hard and hot and moving fast. With a click, Pam's fangs disappeared.

"That hit the spot," Pam said, like she was composing a vlog. "I am stuffed. Couldn't drink another drop."

Tara looked down at her foot. A few drops of blood were licking her twin wounds, but no more than she'd get from a papercut. After the drug-like sensation of being _fed upon_, the tiny clean holes seemed oddly anticlimactic.

"Took you long enough," she said, staring at the holes instead of Pam.

Pam's hand was still on Tara's belly, her _bikini area _one might say, her touch casually intimate. She scratched a long fingernail around Tara's belly button before taking it away. "Wonder what deal we'll make next?"

"Didn't know you were still interested. Thought you were more of a womanizer than that."

"Some vintages get better with age," Pam said cryptically, standing to tower over Tara. "Bar's closed. _Bye."_

* * *

The foot was a bad choice. Tara could feel it twinge every time she walked. Even in the car, she felt it burn like an itch as it rested on the gas pedal. The harder she pressed down, the hotter it felt.

She'd set out for New Orleans at first light. Naomi was in the passenger seat, and she'd hit the diminishing returns. Her last dose of Pam had barely leveled her off. She laid almost catatonic against the window. Her moans fogged up the glass.

"C'mon, baby," Naomi said, her voice like a stranger's. "We gotta go back. We need more V."

"The doctor says you don't need no more. You just gotta ride this out."

"Baby," Naomi said. "Baby, baby, baby—let's take some together. Fly with me."

Tara pumped the gas, pressing them ten miles over the speed limit, and felt the tingle of her wound grip her thigh. For a moment, she almost thought Pam was crouched under the dashboard, licking her leg. She looked for her. There was nothing down there but bandages.

"I'll lick your pussy," Naomi said, and reached across the cupholders to scratch Tara's thigh. "Don't you like that, Toni, Tara, whatever your name is?"

Tara turned on the radio. For a moment, she thought she heard Lafayette saying "Some people you gotta let go, baby girl," but it was just the static. A moment later there was music, and she turned it up to drown Naomi out.


	2. Chapter 2

"Feeling better?" Tara asked Naomi, back in New Orleans. Back home.

Naomi displayed her arm. There was a spot of color under her elbow. "Nicotine patches take the edge off. It's just like quitting smoking all over again."

"Good." Tara grabbed her coat. She'd gotten a new job, it started in an hour. Human boss, human clients. She couldn't wait. She'd thought about getting back into the fight game, but it seemed immature somehow. She just wanted to pull a 9-to-5 without any damn _blood _for a little while.

* * *

The funny thing was, her eight-hour shift felt a lot longer. Over in Fangtasia, she was annoyed with bloodsuckers and fangbangers alike. But at least people didn't bring their kids. Her title at Applebee's said assistant manager, but from the shit she cleaned up (and the paycheck), she didn't feel it. It was goddamn boring, really. She'd twitched at having her vampire experience be a reason for getting hired, but not one person asked for a Tru Blood on her watch. Now she even missed Sookie's Fairy World Problems, trying to decide which gorgeous walking corpse to fuck.

Still, she could get used to boring. Going home, lying down with Naomi, watching America's Funniest Home Videos. Fuck, she liked watching white people get hit in the crotch as much as the next girl.

Then she opened the door to the apartment.

* * *

"Tara Thornton," Pam said, her superiority complex coming through loud and clear, even on Tara's crappy cell phone. "I haven't heard your name since that nice man called about your references. I told him you were a woman of impeccable taste."

Tara wondered how long Pam had been wanting to use that bon mot. Didn't matter. "Naomi's gone."

"I keep telling people, _leashes_. They're good for everyone, really."

"She took my money and… she's gone, Pam. She's just gone."

There was silence at the other end. Tara imagined Pam putting down whatever it was she was doing, but that was probably wishful thinking. "Fucking veeheads. I hope you don't think this is my fault. I've been out of her system for weeks."

_Wish you could say the same for me, _Tara thought, looking down at her foot. Through her shoe, she knew the scars Pam had left were brightly pale, like two moons. "She even took the fucking TV."

"Want me to find her?" Whatever tone Pam was going for, that apparently wasn't it, because she played it off with a deliberately light "It's been so long since I've hunted a human for sport…"

"I just needed to tell someone who doesn't have their own shit to deal with. If I sent so much as an e-mail to Sook, I know I'd end up getting sucked into some bullshit with her and werewolves and whatever the hell else is out there. But you don't give a fuck, Pam. I kinda like that about you. You racist fuckwit."

Tara could've sworn she felt Pam smile at the other end of the line. "You say that, but I actually hate white girls the most. I mean, Kabbalah, The Secret? Ugh! Just nut up and admit the universe is cold and unfeeling."

"Thanks, Pam. You've actually made me feel better."

"I'm an expert at feeling women," Pam quipped. "I suppose now's a good time to wire you your backpay."

"What?"

"Yeah. Eric's idea. He heard about our little domestic arrangement and insisted I pay you. The big Viking hates owing debts."

"I'm sure."

"Oh, look at that, something I actually care about has come up. Tell me, does this sound like a phone hanging up?"

The line went dead.

The small smile stayed on Tara's face as she cleaned up the mess that led to her little vault, persisting all the way until she kicked off her shoes and saw her scar once more. One of the holes had healed, leaving just a single mark like the head of a nail embedded in her foot.

* * *

She went to bed early and cried herself to sleep, which fucking pissed her off but seemed a bit healthier than drinking all the beer in the fridge. That was Plan B. Then she felt cold, like her comforter had slipped off. She tried rolling around, adjusting her blankets, before realizing it was hands caressing her splayed limbs.

When her eyes opened, Pam was leering down at her, wearing one of her special-occasion queen of the dead dresses. "Wakey wakey."

Tara automatically bit her lip. "Motherfucker."

"Charming," Pam shot back instantly.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Pam? How the fuck did you even—" Tara realized, throwing her sheets off even though she was wearing a baggy football jersey and boxers instead of whatever Hammer movie shit Sookie wore when horny vampires came around—fucking nighties and shit.

Pam stepped aside, letting her see that Naomi was just standing there, wearing the clothes Tara had last seen in three days ago, now dirty and tattered. Her eyes were dully glazed.

"Surprise!" Pam said with mocking enthusiasm. "Naomi, have a seat. Don't speak unless spoken to and don't move." As Naomi obeyed, Pam focused her gaze back on Tara. "I think I just made you the perfect girlfriend."

Having Pam's eyes on her, Tara wished her bare legs were covered up again, but she'd already kicked her bedsheet away, so she just got up to face Pam. "I didn't ask for your help, Pam."

"I know, I _know_. You're a strong independent black woman who don't need no vampire. What can I say, all the cool kids have pet humans, I thought I'd try it. But maybe it only works if you're a blonde with a fairy vagina."

"Don't talk shit about my friends." Tara glanced at her jeans over on the floor, thought about going to get 'em, wondered if it would come off as more weak or strong.

Pam crossed her arms and looked back at Naomi, giving off audible boredom at the subject. "Well, tell me what you want to do with her. She doesn't have the money, but there are ways of making it back. I know of certain markets where an Asian kidney will fetch a high price. Some vampires seem to think it's an aphrodisiac." Pam shrugged consideringly. "We never should've turned anyone during the Victorian Age; that was just asking for some fucked-up Freudian bullshit."

"I just want her gone," Tara said.

Pam smiled. "Also doable."

"Not whatever-the-fuck-you're-thinking gone. Just out the door, never see her again gone. I don't have to kill everyone who pisses me off, you know."

"Yeah, you humans are weird that way." Pam glanced at Naomi again, clearly ruing whatever time she'd spent tracking her down. "Sure you don't want her to grovel? Just a little?"

"No. That's not what I want." Tara looked at Pam, who was looking back at her. Fucking weird-ass shit to think about. In Pam's crazy vampire way, this was the nicest thing she'd ever done for Tara. In fact, it was about the nicest thing _anyone _had done for Tara in a while. She was so used to people who professed to love her, then dumped her like a crying baby when shit got rough. Someone who was all too cool for school seven days a week, then actually came through for her when she needed them—she felt like she was with Spock's goatee in some alternate universe.

Shit, that was some actual Harlequin novel stuff there.

"You do kinda look like Fabio," Tara told Pam.

"If you want to compliment me, please direct your worship to my amazing cleavage."

"And what about your lips?"

Pam moved them into a grin. "What about them?"

Tara kissed them. They were cool, but by the time Tara was done with them, they were just warm enough. Out of the corner of her eye, Tara saw Naomi sitting there like a store mannequin.

"Can she see us?"

Pam pursed her lips, annoyed with the sudden cold feet. "If you want, I can tell her to go into a closet. She's probably used to it."

"No. I want her to see and hear everything. I just don't want her to be able to do shit about it."

Pam's smile was the widest Tara had ever seen on her. "And here I _thought _you were fucked up enough to be interesting. Want her bound and gagged too? You shouldn't underrate the visual."

"Maybe for round two." Tara grabbed Pam by the front of her dress, knowing she was bunching the expensive silk, knowing it was pissing Pam off, and knowing she was going to pay for it. "I want you to fuck me. Fuck me the way you're thinking about right now."


	3. Chapter 3

Pam's fangs practically jumped out of her mouth. "Blood with a cum chaser. And here I thought the only fun I'd have tonight would be torturing your ex. Bite the pillow, darlin'. It's going in dry."

And with that, she was unleashed. In a second, she had Tara pinned against the wall; a sharp pain told her she was bitten. A moment later, a wash of pleasure reminded her it was Pam doing it. She heard Pam moan satisfyingly at her fresh, warm taste. Then stop. Her neck suddenly felt shockingly cold as Pam pulled out, moving her wet lips to Tara's ear, so close that the blood slipped over her earlobe. "Not gonna be that easy, bitch. I don't suck it all down like I'm eating a Go-Gurt. I prefer my meals in courses, like a lady of refinement and taste. First, I taste you all plain. Then I fuck you a bit and find out what you taste like when I've made you come till it hurts. Then, when you've literally _begged me_, I drink the rest and leave you just enough to keep breathing. When you're so lightheaded from the blood loss that all you can feel is your last orgasm, that's when you'll know you've been fucked by a real goddamn vampire."

Tara was able to turn just enough to look Pam in the eye. "Talk, talk, talk."

Pam pulled back, licking her licks. "Naomi?"

"Yes miss Pam?"

"Ooh, polite. I like that. Naomi, I'm gonna fuck your ex-girlfriend so hard, we'll see if a bitch can get another bitch pregnant. I want you to watch every second of it, but don't you dare move. Unless of course you get horny. Then you can touch yourself." Pam looked at Tara, poutingly polite. "It's important to show dignity and respect to humans. The Authority says so."

"Yeah, why don't you respect my cunt a little before I go take a shower with it. So far, that shampoo bottle's given me more orgasms than you."

"Washing up already? Oh, Tara, at least wait until we've gotten _really _dirty." Smirking, Pam groped between Tara's legs. It wasn't a fondling touch. More like a possessive grip. At the moment, Tara could live with being possessed. "Besides, I think someone's wet enough already."

With a vampiric burst of speed, Pam ripped away the clothing between her and Tara. Just like that, the human was naked from the waist down. Pam had even ripped away some of her jersey to leave her completely bare.

"Mmmm, and nicely shaved too," Pam observed. Her eyes flicked over to Naomi. "I guess it's true what they say about dykes looking alike after a while."

"That why you and Eric have matching dye jobs?"

Pam let the insult slide right off her back. Too excited about getting lucky to respond, Tara thought. "Before I let you have your twelfth orgasm, you're gonna have to beg me to find out whether I'm a natural blonde."

_Twelfth?_

For the first time, Tara felt a little bit of fear. Not for her life. She knew Pam, knew her reputation, and knew in her _bones _that Pam could live up to every promise she made. She wondered how she could go back to humans after Pam did all she said she'd do. It had been hard enough getting over Franklin, but he'd been enough of a psycho to erase the mindblowing sex they'd had before everything had gone to the requisite sex. Pam, though—she was amateur hour psycho in comparison. And as Naomi had proved, Tara could put up with a lot of shit for some good sex.

Then Pam sucked her neck wound—not a deeper bite, more of a soulful kiss against the two bloody erogenous zones Pam had created. All the ruminations left Tara's head. _Probably for the best_, she thought, before she gave herself over to Pam.

"Mmmm-mmm-MMMM!" Pam enthused, like she was eating cake on a cooking show. "Now you're nice and turned on. Just a hint of adrenaline. A little bit of sweat. Is now a good time for foreplay? Should we talk about our feelings?"

"Pretty sure 'crazy bitch' ain't a feeling."

"True," Pam said. She daintily wiped her lips clean, then smeared the blood on Tara's mouth. And, with a big grin, she kissed Tara, tasting the blood and _her _at the same time. "So, tell me, when'd you figure out you were a great big lezzie? I mean, you are getting on in years. Most of the really smart ones figure out early on that stuffing a blunt sausage in their puss isn't any reliable way to have an orgasm."

"More reliable than Vampirella so far."

Pam looked in Tara's eyes, hard and deadly. "Call NASA. I'm exploring a black hole."

Then Tara gasped as she felt a long finger slide into her cunt like she'd been made for it. She only had a second to get used to it; then it vibrated like the world's newest Hitachi product. She cried out, her mouth wide open just to eke out a little squeak.

"What's wrong?" Pam asked, full of mock-concern. "Surely this isn't the first time someone's given you the finger?"

"Your finger's just really big," Tara gasped. "Like, trucker big. You could win an arm wrestling contest with those mitts."

Pam's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Yeah, I'd worry two would break something, but then—" Tara hyperventilated as another slender finger slipped perfectly inside her and vibrated on just the right frequency to shatter her like a wineglass. "I don't really care."

Tara tried to hold it in, really she did, but there was just nothing for it. She came screaming ("Oh FUUUUUCK!") and thanked Christ for the small mercy of Pam holding her goddamn fingers still.

"That's one!" Pam cried, sounding delightfully chipper as she kissed the twin beads of blood that had formed at Tara's wound. After smacking her lips lovingly, her fingers made an earthquake once more. Tara had barely had time to take a deep breath, much less let it out. All the air ended up escaping her lungs in one loud outburst ("SHIIIIIT!")

"There's my good little bitch," Pam piped, her free hand dementedly pinching Tara's cheek. "That's a great bitch, coming for momma. Because you are my bitch now. You've been fucked and drank and I'm only going to fuck and drink you more. To everyone else, you can be Tara or Toni or whatever the fuck your Twitter handle is, but to me, all you are is _mine_." And she punctuated the statement by pulling her hand free so fast it was its own kind of fucking, then slapping Tara's cunt with just enough force that Tara couldn't decide if it hurt or felt too goddamn good.

Tara gritted down the orgasm that so wanted to happen. "I may be your bitch, but I'm damn sure the best bitch you've ever had."

And as good as the stinging _resonance _of Pam's hand on her cunt felt, she grabbed Pam by the hair and put all her strength on Pam's center of gravity. Pam may have been a hundred-year-old vampire, but she must not've fought MMA in a while, because Tara instantly had her on her ass. She straddled the bitch, ripped her dress open while Pam's eyes flickered with annoyance, then bit down on her tit. Although she did it as hard as she could, Pam just sighed in relief, like she'd taken a cold drink on a hot day.

Wrapping her strong arms around Pam's deceptively slender body, Tara guided their sexes together and ground down on Pam's crotch. This time, Pam let out a pleased laugh. Tara kissed her feverishly, just trying to get her to shut up. Now Pam actually moaned in pleasure.

Tara kept kissing her, kept tribbing her, reached up between them and twisted Pam's hard nipple like it was a bottle cap. Pam groaned and wrapped her legs around Tara. To Tara, it was a white flag. Pam was loving this too much to let her stop, and that was a fucking win.

Tara looked up at Naomi, who'd started squeezing her tits, her nipples showing right through her T-shirt. "You like seeing me fuck this vampire bitch? I love it. I love it so fucking much. I'm gonna make this racist vampire cunt come because I want her so much worse than you. I'm so fucking over you I'd rather eat this bitch's fucking undead pussy!"

Naomi moaned. Tara's words only seemed to turn her on further.

"She's a natural bottom," Pam said, bored with her diagnosis. "Shame you kicked her to the curb before you found out. Could've had some fun."

"And us? Two motherfucking alphas?"

"That's werewolves," Pam corrected. "What can I say? Two doms is just enough of a clusterfuck to be fun. You should've seen me and Eric during the 1940s."

"Why, did Hitler let you stay on his couch?"

"You know who Hitler is; good on ya for staying in school. I know how hard it is when they don't make the tests in Ebonics."

The more Pam razzed her, the faster and harder Tara went. And the faster and harder she went, the better it felt. Maybe it was just having Pam lying under her, looking up with eyes that worshipped, her timeless body pulling taut where it was muscled and jiggling where it was curved, even if her face wore the sublimely pleased smile of a proud pet owner. No matter how cool she wanted to play it, Tara could feel her barely beating heart start to pound… her borrowed blood burning up ancient veins… her nipples swelling with stolen fire. Tara might've been a mayfly compared to Pam's immortal grace, but she was turning the bitch on and Tara guessed there weren't many vampires, even past the century-mark, that could say the same.

And maybe Pam felt the need to reward her, maybe Pam didn't want to lose without putting up a fight, or maybe she was just _that _turned on, but as Tara's riding sent twin strings of blood unspooling down her neck, Pam licked them up. Her tongue teased the wound at the end of each swipe, sending ecstasy like a fever through Tara's body. She had to admit; even while she laid there and got fucked, Pam was one bad bitch.

"And you called me a whore," Pam said out of the blue, her pleased smile twisting into smugness. "Here you're about to come and it's barely been two minutes."

"I ain't comin' till your bitch-ass—"

Without even a hint of that "Can I kiss you?" bullshit white women apparently really wanted Channing Tatum to pull on them, Pam's whole body _vibrated. _It was literally a tremor, and her legs around Tara held her right in place to take the full force of it. It was a little bit—Tara thought, as best she could—like sitting on a washing machine in nothing but silk panties. Only this washing machine really wanted to fuck you.

Tara was stricken—her arms steepled to either side of Pam to hold her up, her upper body thrown into the air by her spine bending back to shove her crotch further into the Richter scale shenanigans coming from Pam. Her face was stuck on 'fuck'; literally. Her lips contorted around the vowels of the word and stayed that way like she'd been frozen solid. When Pam stopped—of fucking _course _she stopped—Tara hung her head and finished speaking. "—uck," she said under her breath.

Then Pam started again. Just long enough to really make Tara want it, fucking _need it_, before she stopped and laughed to herself like it the funniest thing she'd ever seen, Tara panting and moaning over her. Maybe it was; fucking vampires. She didn't even bother asking Tara to beg. They both knew she would've. So, in a rare display of grace that absolutely infuriated Tara, she just did her Wally West thing again and didn't stop, or barely stopped. Giving Tara a bare instant to take a breath before shaking her again, and again, and again, until Tara's eyes were literally rolling in her head. She thought she'd had an orgasm. Maybe she'd had two, but then Pam started touching her, those cool vampire hands running up and down her body, tearing off her shredded jersey in the process like it was so much wrapping paper. She felt every bead of sweat, every millimeter of hair, every inch of skin, over and over again, like she was taking in some new-fangled art exhibit. _The Fucked-up Human Being In Orgasm. _And that just made it worse because it just made it better.

"I hate you so much," Tara moaned as she came nice and hard and soft and _good._

"I hate you too," Pam said, with her bullshit sweetness. "But I love making you come."

And she must've, because it was like continuously coming. Not even the multiple orgasms she'd had before, with a few particularly decent human lovers, but one long orgasm that skillfully let up when she needed it too, flitting on the verge of painful but always sparing her, yet coming faster and faster, giving her less and less time to recuperate until it seemed like she was being pulled upward, forced to go from the small, tidy orgasms she was used to, all the way to the big Meg Ryan orgasms, so loud and wet they're supposed to be _funny _for God's sake, but there was nothing funny when you actually had to scream "OH JESUS OH GOD OH JESUS OH MY GOD!" to keep from swallowing your tongue.

She was fucked. Well and truly fucked. One fucked, well-fucked, well-satisfied, and well-done vampire bitch. And as she came down from the plateau Pam must've kept her at for hours, she couldn't bring herself to want anything but pulling bitch duty for a vampire.

"Oh God! Oh Jesus!"

Was there an echo in here?

Tara looked up to see Naomi, her hand lost between her legs. Apparently, the act with Pam was scoring high in their target demo. _You like that? _Tara thought vindictively. She didn't feel the least bit sorry, seeing Naomi debased like this. After all the people in her life who had screwed her over and gotten away with it, it felt better than the sex to have one of them at her mercy. _You like that? Well, watch _this.

Tara brought herself up, actually managing to push Pam's leglock aside, so that she was straddling Pam once more. She brushed her hair out of the way and bared her throat, an offer and a challenge. Both Pam and Naomi could see her jugular, although only Pam could see it throbbing.

A note of concern, as alien as speaking in Spanish, entered Pam's voice. "That's not where I bit you." She'd left the first bite mark open so she could return to it. Vampire manners.

"Bite me again," Tara said, guessing correctly that the act of penetration was itself a good bit of fanger fun.

Pam's fangs popped at the invitation. She reared up, lovingly running her face up Tara's body, and paused at her parted lips as if to kiss them. Instead, she snapped her teeth in Tara's exhale. Tara didn't even wince. The mouth smiled as it withdrew, then flashed fangs again and buried them in the other side of Tara's neck. Virgin territory.

Tara watched Naomi. Saw her flush and shake in orgasm. _Don't even need to touch you to do that, hon._

For a moment, Pam just worried at Tara's neck, leaving her teeth embedded in the new flesh, the blood welling up and spilling down her chin. She didn't drink a drop, just let it caress her skin. Tara rested her hands on Pam's hips, pushing under her tattered dress to feel her cool flesh and the tinge of warm that would soon grow.

As if in encouragement, Pam began to drink. She just sucked on Tara, drawing out a long, slow shudder. Tara stroked Pam's warming flesh, copying the feel of her mouth. Slow, languid touches that fed her passion by greedy degree. Soon, she was reaching under the vampire's parted legs to feel her labia and clit, both wet and hot and ready for her.

She used both hands, one on either, each making circles in different directions—a nifty little trick that tended to send the body into corkscrews, having two similar but opposed sensations overlapping. A deep rumble came out of Pam's chest; she was close enough that Tara could feel it as well as hear. It was like a cat's purr as it sat in your lap. Tara kept up her gentle masturbation as Pam drank her, no more carefully than she would lap up a milkshake.

Maybe it was Naomi's panting, voyeuristic excitement, but things grew more intense quickly. Pam bit down harder, like a pitbull, her fangs deep in Tara's throat. Tara responded in kind, sliding a finger inside Pam as she rubbed her clit good and fast. The vampire moaned between greedy gulps, liking Tara's touch, liking her taste, maybe even liking the excitement evident in Tara's blood.

Pam drank more. Tara slid another finger inside. Pam's cunt had become warm and tight, as excited and snug as a virgin's. Tara added another finger. Judging from the almost pained gasp that came from Tara's throat, she must've felt like a virgin too.

Soon, Tara didn't so much as notice Naomi. Her eyes were riveted to Pam's bare back, her shoulder muscles undulating like wings as she fed, her whole body accepting Tara's life.

All the blood in Pam's body was rushing straight to her crotch, where Tara needed it. She sought out the warmth. The hot ember of her clit. The furnace of her cunt. She let her hands burn.

Pam mewled in need, her mouth lost in Tara's neck.

When she came, it was like the smoke billowing from an inferno. She ignited liquid, a rush of fluids that soaked Tara's fingers and put out the flame. Pam shuddered so hard she blurred at the edges, tentatively withdrawing her fangs as if nervous what would happen. Her orgasm, wet on Tara's thighs and belly, dwindled away to the gasping exhales leaving her body. Like an iron filing drawn to a magnet, she could not keep away from the lifeforce she'd tasted. Her fangs safely tucked away, her head slumped onto Tara's shoulder and watched the dregs of blood trickle down her back, red darkness.

Tara spoke first. "So when you were a hooker, did you charge extra for the squirting?"

Pam tried something like pushing Tara away, only managing to force herself off Tara and onto her side upon the floor. "Fuck you, bitch."

Straightening out, she stuck her thumb in her mouth, bit it open, and rubbed her blood on either side of Tara's neck. The wounds healed like they were icing over, a cool relief on Tara's overheated body. Pam held out her dripping hand to Tara's mouth, and Tara took a small suckle of V. It cooled her down further, made her feel like she was jumping into a pool in the middle of summer. But that was all.

"Stay with me," Pam said, without her usual mocking perusal of a Southern accent.

"The fuck?"

"You're a flower in weeds. Let me put you in a garden." Pam sighed and looked at the ceiling wearily. "That's all the poetry shit I've got. In my time, we called it being a kept woman. Basically, I give you free room and board, and in exchange I get to fuck and suck on the regular."

Tara got up, the V fortifying enough not to wobble like she felt like, and padded over to see if she had some clothes Naomi hadn't stolen. "After a hundred years not breathing, has the lack of oxygen finally hit your brain?"

Pam popped her knee out and dropped an arm under her head, adopting a pose that showed off her body better than a painting by Michelangelo would've. "You'll be well-laid. Sorry. Well-paid. Let's say, an allowance of a thousand dollars a week. And of course, I'll be eating your pussy."

Tara found a flannel bathrobe—had to be a gift from Sam—and threw it on. "You're one unbelievable fucking vampire, you know that?"

Pam examined her nails, as if fingering Tara might've chipped them. "You want the money or not?"

Tara shrugged. "Shit yeah, I want the money. But make it five thousand a week, if I'm never gonna eat garlic for the rest of my life."

"Not the rest of your life, just until you start getting old and depressing. Deal, by the way."

"And no bothering me when I'm working at Merlotte's or with my friends. "

"You're going back to work at country-fried Coyote Ugly? And you have _friends_?"

"You want this ass or not?"

"Show it to me one more time."

Tara pulled her robe up with one hand, but kept facing Pam so she could only see the side of it.

"I suppose," Pam said in exasperation, as if she were doing Tara a huge kindness in taking her sexual favors off her hand.

Tara dropped her robe. "And—" (Pam groaned) "—no saying 'Pam is mine!' or any shit like that." After a pause, Tara conceded "Unless we're alone."

"I knew you humans got off on that," Pam snickered. "What about Sailor Moon? Shall we keep her, or return her to the wild?"

Tara looked at Naomi. She was staring at them longingly, hoping they would go back to fucking each other. More likely, hoping Pam would share her bleeding thumb. "Shit. Erase her memory. I don't want her remembering any of this."

Pam groaned extravagantly, like no vampire on Earth had ever been through as many indignities as her. She even threw her hands up pleadingly. "We're not even going to traumatize her? What are you, a Mormon?"

"I'm not some fucking abusive girlfriend. Make it so she—so she feels real guilty about stealing from me, so we broke up and in the morning, she'll check into a rehab clinic."

"Great fucking Lilith!" Pam muttered. "You want her to go vegan too?"

"Do it and I'll let you bite me anywhere."

Pam kept her mouth shut to hide her fangs popping. When they'd retracted, she said "Naomi, blah blah blah, what she said. And from now on, be sure to stay away from my human. Also, you're going to be _very _attracted to the next white person you see with an Asian tattoo. _Especially _if they watch anime."

"Pam!" Tara chided.

"Too mean? Fine. Scratch that, Naomi, from now on, you will feel compelled to state, whenever it comes up in discussion, that the American Godzilla is vastly superior to all other Godzilla movies."

"She'd not even Japanese!" Tara enunciated slowly. "Laos. She's from Laos."

"Wher_ever _cheap electronics come from, God! Who cares? C'mon, let's get back to Fangtasia, I want to show you off to Eric before sunrise. I'm pretty sure you trump him getting his hands on Sookie's Fae-gina."

"I'll sleep with you," Tara said, "but I better fucking have my own bathroom. And I still fuckin' hate your ass."

Pam blew her a kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

Her last night of freedom. Not even that, not really. Her last day of freedom. Once the sun set, Tara belonged to Pam.

She walked through the apartment she'd bought with Naomi. It'd never been much to look at, but now that Naomi had left it in shambles in her search for drug money, it seemed downright pathetic. Her big go at a normal life; a gay interracial relationship with someone she'd met foxy boxing. No wonder she and Sookie were best friends. They were fucked up in near the exact same direction.

Tara wiped her tears away—that's how she figured out she was crying. No damn point feeling sorry for herself. She should be doing something to commiserate not having a vampire lien on her ass at the moment. Getting shit-faced seemed too much like a celebration, though. Soon Pam would be coming to sweep her off to a land of no student loan payments like a fucked up Prince Charming. She should be getting her things together. But she couldn't think of anything from her old life she'd want to see once she was a vampire's bitch. So she just sat on the couch and watched the sun go down like she was in a music video.

It turned red, spread across the sky like a bloodstain, then dropped below the trees. A phone call startled her away from whatever she was thinking. A text message, in fact, from Pam. It read 'You still in?' Tara imagined her waiting for an answer—staring at her phone, sighing and fretting. "Please, Ms. Tara, say yes! I'll die if you don't! Again!" Kinda doubted it. 'Yes,' she sent back. Immediately after, a car honked outside. Long and damn loud. Tara went to the window and saw a black limo parked at the curb, the chauffeur outside holding a sign that said Thornton.

Well, holy shit. Pam was taking her to prom.

* * *

As soon as it was clear she had no luggage ("Of course you don't."), Tara was driven to Fangtasia, where she was delivered to the backrooms of the club like she was still being chauffeured. One of the rooms had a star on the door. _Tara Thornton _was written on it in cursive. She just stared at it.

"You're the star of my movie," Pam said behind her, making her jump. Fucking vampires.

"Fucking vampires!" Tara said, with more rancor than she'd thought it.

Pam was dressed down, which for her meant she looked like she was on the better page of a Sears catalog—long-sleeved white blouse and gray slacks. "What? I thought you humans went in for all this lovey-dovey shit."

"Just because I'm letting you gnaw on my neck doesn't make me your girlfriend."

"Now now," Pam chided. "I'm going to be gnawing on a lot more than that."

She got the door for Tara, ushering her inside. Tara went in because it was easier than having Pam throw her in. It was… okay, it was a fine-ass room. Contemporary design out of a Better Living magazine, with furniture that looked like modern art and some high-up windows to let the moonlight in.

Tara, in her denim cut-offs and flannel vest, felt ever so slightly out of place.

"Our most luxurious room," Pam breathed, shifting into the trilling tone of a tour guide. "Usually it's reserved for visiting dignitaries, but now it's yours. Five thousand square feet of floor space, full marble bathroom, a refrigerated private bar, and free wi-fi. The floor is custom-designed marble mosaic, and we got the same guy to do the sparkling crystal chandeliers, the hand-tufted area rug, and hand-etched table lamps. A state-of-the-art kitchen, just in case you can cook, and the media room features a built-in, white-lacquer entertainment unit, concealed rope lighting, a fifty-five-inch flat-screen television that gets stations from around the world, with remote-controlled media, sound system, lighting and curtains."

Tara stared at her a moment. Pam had circled the room, pointing out all the amenities. Now she'd stopped at the bed, apparently considering whether to point out the mirror above the mattress. Did vampires even have reflections?

"Are you fucking pulling a Fifty Shades of Gray on me?" Tara asked.

Pam blinked. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Don't give me that. 'Fifty-five-inch flat-screen television that gets stations from around the world'," Tara repeated dismally.

"Well, it does!"

"Don't pretend you give a shit about me. This is all just supposed to get my panties wet. I bet the closet's full of same Sex And The City crap too, huh?"

"No!" Pam put her hands on her hips. "I bought you some extensive credit at certain exclusive clothing boutiques—just in case you were thinking about buying a garbage bag full of jean overalls at Wal-Mart—so don't think I'd deprive you of the pleasure of shopping for something it'd please me to see you in." She unclenched her hand from her waist to wave it in the air. "And my personal tailor will be by soon to fix something up for you, just for social occasions."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding. Did you really pull all this shit in one night?"

"Vampire contractors. They work fast and they're non-union."

Tara gave Pam a look. _The _look.

"Fine!" Pam threw her hands up. "It's some god-forsaken honeymoon suite Eric was cooking up for Sookie, as if she's ever going to stop needing fresh monster dick every six months like I get my oil changed. But the marble bathroom was my idea. It's Italian."

"I don't need you pampering me like I mean something to you. I don't and I want to keep it that way. You can suck my blood all you like, but I don't want no 'personal tailor' getting my shit together for 'social occasions'."

Pam laughed gaily. "Can't a girl take care of her pet?"

"I ain't your fucking pet. I take care of myself, and you give me money for me to do that, _myself_. Believe me, if Pizza Hut was paying as good as you were, I'd be over there. They don't give a damn if I go to Wal-Mart and buy the whole store. Shit's cheap."

Pam sat down on the bed, still smiling a bit. That smirk of hers that Tara thought was actually a little fond. She didn't know if that made it more or less scary.

"C'mere," Pam said. Her hand was by her hip; the forefinger crooked alluringly.

"Why?"

"I can't hear you from way over there," Pam answered, in a completely insincere lie.

Tara marched over to her. "You think you're getting some?"

Pam looked up at her, as if the height difference between her sitting and Tara standing was a cute joke. "People don't say no to me."

Tara held up her finger, like she was asking for a pause. Then she brought it to Pam's mouth. Parted her lips. Stuck it inside. Saw Pam's fangs when they flipped down. Then pulled her finger away, leaving those big teeth shining in the moonlight.

"Not one bite," Tara said, "until we get that contract signed."

Pam snapped her teeth together before retracting herself. "I give you this nice room as a show of good faith and you can't even let me have a little sip? Just the sip?"

"Good faith? I already fucked you in front of my ex-girlfriend."

Pam laughed harshly. "You got fucked. There's a difference."

"Maybe you can explain it to me. After the contract's signed."

"The notary is on the way. What shall we do to pass the time?" Pam toyed with the bottom of her shirt.

"I don't know what you're doing, but I'm taking a nap in that fancy bed. And you're leaving me alone, as a sign of 'good faith', since you would never ever intrude on my privacy. Would you?"

Pam stood, looking down at the bed like it'd offended her. "All you're doing, Tara-baby, is making that inevitable moment when you're broken and begging for me to touch you just once… all the sweeter."

"Oh yeah? You'll be begging to drink from me by the end of the week."

"I don't have to beg. I buy it wholesale."

* * *

Pam left Tara's room feeling an agitation that burned-but-in-a-good-way, like whiskey during Prohibition. The exact same cask just tasted better when it was illegal. Maybe that was Tara's appeal; Pam couldn't think of anything else. Their relationship was stupid, fucked up, and arguably immoral. Therein laid the appeal.

Pam wandered into the bar area, doing the old see-and-be-see routine with the fangbangers, leeching off their awe as they leeched off her creature of the night charisma. Tara was old-school vexing: in the past, Pam would've killed someone that irritating, but such things were unfortunately frowned upon. Some vampires would've turned her and been done with it; weaklings, Pam thought, latching themselves to a baby for all eternity because they had a momentary pang. So, Pam thought she'd try this new-fangled contract thing, see how bad it fucked her up. A month ago, she would've called it politically-correct pussy juice, having to mortgage a human instead of just seducing them whenever you wanted like a real vampire would. But now she liked the thought of having ink on Tara, as much bullshit as it was.

She looked around at the various pole stages, saw four different dancers shaking various groove things. That just seemed inefficient on a weekday. She pointed at three in turn. "You, you, and you. Come with me. Momma wants some family time."

* * *

Tara laid awake in bed, decided she wasn't sleeping, and got up to pace, just to sit back down on a recliner. That had a massage function, so she tried that. It was nice. Then she turned the TV on. It was nicer. For a few minutes, she watched a rerun of Wendy Williams about actors turning to vampirism to keep from getting wrinkles. It was great, as long as your premieres were held in the evening.

Something started chirping. Tara looked around for what it was—a bomb?—before realizing it was an intercom. She had an intercom. Seemed a lot lousier than a phone, though, the way you had to get up and go all the way to the wall to answer it. The things she did for love. Like. Well, okay, money.

"Yeah Pam?"

It wasn't Pam. "Ms. Thornton, the emissary from the Authority is here to look over your contract. Ms. De Beaufort asked that you be informed when she got here."

"Yeah, okay, where is Nosferatits?"

"She's downstairs, ma'am, in the dungeon."

"Oh, great, y'all have a dungeon." Tara shut the intercom off. 'Ms. Thornton.' She'd have to talk to somebody about that.

* * *

Yeah, it was a sex dungeon. Couldn't be more of a sex dungeon if Rihanna was shooting a music video there. Tara came down the stairs to find naked Pam and three naked Eastern Europeans, all drained to the point that they could only moan in pain and/or pleasure. They were sprawled around the seated Pam, one at her feet, one with her head in her lap, and one still chained to the wall. Looked like something a lesbian heavy metal fan would paint on the side of her van.

"Hate to interrupt your pillow talk," Tara said, "but your vampire notary public is here."

"Good, I just finished." Pam stirred the dancer at her feet with her big toe. "And so did all of them."

"Comrade G-String and her friends supposed to make me jealous?" Tara asked, ducking away as the drainee on the wall reached for her lustfully. "Because between the all of them, there've gotta be more STDs than Charlie Sheen's contact list."

Pam blinked dully. "I was going for fearful anticipation." She casually pushed one's chin off her thigh, letting the Russian drip to the floor. "If I could do this to three amateur porn stars, imagine what I could do to one _you._"

"You couldn't fuck a black girl, so you had an orgy with three which chicks. Yeah, that sounds about right." She turned to leave, before "You coming?"

"I'll hold off until you do, just to be romantic."

* * *

When she heard 'vampire lawyer,' Tara was expecting one of those fangers that looked like the torturer in a James Bond movie; with a face that made you wonder who thought _that _should be preserved for all eternity. What she got was cute. And human. And a blonde. With glasses.

"Hi, I'm Katerina Pelham, executive aide to the King of Louisiana. I have a bit of a spiel to get through before we get down to business, so I hope neither of you have anything scheduled."

"Just our undying happiness," Pam drawled, reclining behind her desk.

Tara spread on the couch. Katerina stood. Pam's office had been cleaned since Tara had been in it last, some of the prints on the walls replaced with more modern artwork, the furniture upholstered, the carpet changed. Tara wondered if it was for her benefit. But then, that was impossible, right? She'd only agreed last night.

Vampire contractors…

"Excellent!" Katerina crocked her arms at waist level like she was teaching a seminar. "Now, a lot of people call your kind of relationship a 'vampire marriage' or 'engaged to be turned.' The Authority frowns on that phrasing. Neither of you are under any obligation to turn or be turned. For now, we prefer the term 'consortium'. Tara, as Pam's human consort, you'll be expected to provide Pam a certain amount of blood on a weekly basis—well within healthy human limits! And Pam, as Tara's vampire consort, you will provide Tara a set allowance to compensate her for the much-appreciated lifestyle choice she'll be making. The exact terms are up for negotiation, within reason of course. We've had some very… uncouth vampires trying to launder money through this system."

"Of course," said Pam, who was not listening, but staring at Katerina's low-cut top under her business jacket.

"We already drew up a contract," Tara said, pointing to it on the desk.

Katerina picked it up and looked it over. "Yes, this all seems reasonable. You're ready to sign?" They both nodded. "Okay, quick public service announcement first. I'm not implying anything, it's just my job. We at the Vampire Authority—"

"Here we go," Pam muttered.

"—realize how intense a blood-sharing relationship can become. So there is a year-long trial period for your contract. During that time, you can back out, add specifics to your contract—just find whatever works for you. A neutral observer will visit every month to ensure that the human consort has not been glamoured without her consent—"

"Why would I ever consent to glamouring?" Tara interrupted.

Katerina took off her glasses to play with the earpiece; a sure sign of being flustered. ("Fangbanger," Pam whispered.)

She spoke in a strident voice. "I'm told it can be very useful for fantasy scenarios. For instance, if you wanted to believe you were She-Ra and the only way to save your friends was to blow Hordak…"

Tara turned her head like it was happening right in front of her. "Forget I asked."

"Don't knock it til you've tried it," Pam said.

Katerina played with her glasses more. "Additionally, we appreciate that this is a very controversial lifestyle choice. Obviously, humans and vampires have had these informal relationships throughout history, but only recently have they been codified. To show our appreciation of you being at the forefront of human-vampire relations, there will be a twenty percent tax break on your blood-tithe. As long as you participate in outreach programs aimed to show the diversity of those who enjoy legitimate consortium relationships."

Tara sat up. "You sayin' you want us to be vamp poster girls?"

"Split the tax break with you fifty-fifty," Pam said without looking up from Katerina's cleavage.

"Deal. But if there's any nudity, it'd better be tasteful."

"It's so good to see a couple in their honeymoon phase," Katerina gushed. "Let's get those John Hancocks!"

They signed at a small table, Katerina on one side, the signer on the other. Pam went first, obviously. Her full name in big, ornate lettering that gave Tara a calligraphy boner. She got out of the hot seat, beckoned Tara to sit down, and Tara signed her name in a quick jot. "Best ten thou you ever spent."

"Then let's see a little return on my investment."

Just like that, Pam had her hand in Tara's hair, jerking her head back to bare her throat. Tara didn't even know what was going on until she felt Pam's fangs in her throat, the sweet spot, the jugular, blood just spurting into Pam's mouth. She didn't even have to suck.

And it felt good. Incredible, even. Tara always loved the moment of being bitten, when all the doubt and confusion of day-to-day life became simple need. She just wished she knew if it was her need or Pam's.

Across from her, Katerina reached for her glasses, but left them on. It would be too hard to see otherwise.

Heat. Pam's fangs had been cold, but they always started a fire. Not in Tara's neck, but between her legs. Tara rubbed her thighs together, feeling the warmth spread like she was sinking into a hot bath. It covered her body like sweat. She kneaded her hands on the chair's armrests, curled her toes, tilted her head to give Pam better access to her throat. The heat was almost to her neck, that chill where blood loss was cooling her body. She knew the heady, swimming sensation that blurred her vision and wet her mouth was an orgasm about to happen.

Then Pam pulled free—a brief trickle of hot blood landed on Tara's shoulder, spoiling it like an ice cube in a sauna. Expertly she covered the neck wound with one hand while biting the other, using her own blood to patch Tara's bite before it could bleed anywhere but her mouth.

"I think that'll do it for me," Pam said, watching Tara gasp, high and dry. "I am all filled up on exotic dancer."

"I, umm…" Katerina was clenching her thighs and trying not to be too obvious about it. "I should leave you two alone."

She got up to flee, but Pam fixed her with a stare that froze her in her tracks. It wasn't glamouring. It was just _her. _"Just so you know, Fangtasia does appreciate all the hard work the Authority and its human supporters put into vampire rights. Do come back sometime, as a customer, and you'll drink for free." She bared her bloody teeth in a smile. "And whatever else we can do to make you comfortable."

"I should go," Katerina said, and power-walked through the door. Before it shut, Pam was flaring her nostrils like she was sniffing an invisible carnation.

"Humans. Like fucking a teenage boy. So easy to get them all excited…"

Tara was rubbing her healed neck, trying to pretend she wasn't bothered as all hell by Pam blueballing her, when she knew Pam could probably smell how much she wanted a rematch. Well, let her. Right now, even if Pam asked, she'd tell her that she'd had her fill and send her to sleep on the vampire couch.

Probably.

"You have to do that shit in front of her?" she asked.

"Oh, c'mon, like you didn't want to show her your O-face. You could be the marshmallow in our S'more."

Tara crossed her legs. Massaging her knee and calf helped some with the tension Pam had left her with. "The fuck now?"

"S'more. You know. Two crackers, one marshmallow?"

"How the fuck am I a marshmallow?"

"When you cook the marshmallow in the fire and the inside gets all gooey and the outside turns black…"

"When it tastes like shit, you mean?"

"It tastes great like that." Pam put her hands on her hips. "It's all crunchy."

"I put a bit of a Hershey bar in my s'mores. That'd make more sense for me than the fucking marshmallow."

Pam scratched her head in confusion. "Okay, so Katerina and I are the Graham crackers, you're the Hershey bar… who's the marshmallow?"

"I don't know, we can make it a foursome with an albino. It's your fucking metaphor. By the way, those ground rules she talked about? We're starting on those right now."

Pam smiled darkly. "I thought you didn't want the Fifty Shades of Gray thing."

"There were ground rules in Fifty Shades of Gray?"

"I don't know, never read it. But I think there was something about a BDSM contract…"

Tara waved her hand in the air like the air was pissing her off. The usual Pam-related anger was doing wonders for her previous desire to have Pam rip her clothes off and mount her like a pony. "What the fuck _ever_! Rule one: no more coitus interruptus. If you start something, you finish it."

"Want me to finish you?" Tara asked, drawling to the point of molasses.

"Fuck no, bitch, now I'm fucking pissed off!"

"Because I do recall you promised me I could bite you anywhere."

Tara scowled. "You really wanna cash that in now?"

"You're cute when you're angry. And I really want to bite down on that juicy ass of yours."

Tara thought about it. For about half a second. Half a really long second. "Yeah, well, you already had your bite for this week, so too fuckin' bad."

Pam smiled. Licked her lips, then her teeth. "I'm curious. What are you gonna tell all your Facebook friends about our little arrangement?"

Tara had been wondering that herself. "That in the contract? Cuz if it ain't, that's literally none of your business."

"Want me to come with? Offer moral support?"

"Yeah, Pam, I'd really love it if you were there to help me tell my closest friends I've put a mortgage on my red blood cells." Tara didn't think she could muster any more sarcasm, but knowing Pam, pretty soon she'd have to try. She huffed, "I'm gonna go get a blanket for the Russians. They must be all tuckered out from your gangbang."

"Don't sound so judgmental; I was the bangee."

* * *

While Tara slept, Pam went to check in on Eric. He was brooding again—even a vampire of his centuries could give into pop culture's insistence on creatures of the night being emo. Pam supposed it was like Hollywood actresses buying purse-sized dogs. An occupational hazard.

She intruded on his privacy with the usual lack of a knock, finding him doing nothing more pressing than listening to Sigur Ros. Fucking Vikings. "Do you know what year it is? Who's the President? How many fingers am I holding up?" she finished, giving him the middle one.

"Very amusing, Pam." He turned down the stereo, in deference to Pam's well-known hatred of anything that could be construed as soft rock. Pam grinned a little at having her Maker back instead of John Doe The Friendly Vampire. "Something on your mind or would you just like to go get a bite?"

"It's been a while since we've been on the prowl together, but no. I bought Tara and put her up in your creepy Sookie room. Hope you don't mind. Also don't care."

"Fuck the Sookie room. That ship's sailed. What do you mean 'bought'? Unless I really am ignorant of the year, that's somewhat illegal."

"We entered into a consortium. I just signed the contract with her."

"Ah." Eric nodded. "Would you like to talk about it?"

"No," Pam said, and left the room.

"A pleasure as always, Pam."


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Tara woke up and thought _I'm fucking a vampire._

Not at the moment. Not even _necessarily_; the contract was just for blood. She could say Pam could only drink, or give her the blood in a syringe like they'd used to, or stop the thing altogether. But something about her situation seemed irrevocable. She'd admitted that she wasn't repulsed by Pam; she didn't have that shield of hatred anymore. There was a part of her—no telling how large—that actually liked this Anne Rice shit. Being bonded to Pam, getting paid like a hooker, fucked like a hooker… Jesus.

How _was _she going to explain that to Sookie and Lafayette?

Well, fuck it. She'd think of something. And see if she could borrow some sweats from one of the strippers, because she'd slept in her old clothes and hadn't brought anything to change into. Then she got up and saw a set of clothes folded neatly on the bed. Jeans and a T-shirt. Not too showy, but new and clean. Pam must've put them there. Been in Tara's room while she was sleeping, watched her, been in and out. It was a violation of her privacy, but somehow all Tara could think about was the moment of consideration Pam had had; knowing Tara had no clothes, buying her some, setting them out for her.

'Consortium'. Tara was glad there was some word for it. She wasn't exactly a kept woman and she wasn't exactly Pam's girlfriend; consort seemed as good a word as any. She grabbed them to take to the bathroom with her, only noticing the writing on the shirt after her shower.

_Got Blood?_

* * *

Tara never would've thought she'd be glad to see Sookie's eye-sore place again, but hell if she wasn't. Growing up, it'd almost been a second home, and as much shit as she'd experienced around that house, a part of her would always associate it with long, lazy summer afternoons with her best friend.

She knocked on the door and got the usual reception from Sookie—one thing she could count on from the girl. Sookie might have one hell of a social life, but when it came to her friends, she always buckled down, busted out some refreshments, and was good for an afternoon's talk.

Of course, assuming Tara had nothing new with her, most of that talk had to do with the Anita Blake novel Sookie's life had become.

"I can't believe you're back," Sookie said, serving up some pecan cookies that had Tara deciding to forgive her for her impending self-centeredness. "Lately it seems like you thought of Bon Temps like it was a prison."

"Guess I'm like that Shawshank Redemption guy. Institutionalized. I ain't fit for anywhere else, so I might as well stay here."

"Well… so long as you're happy." Sookie looked around. She had a deer-in-the-headlights way about her when it came to Tara these days, which Tara found hard to appreciate. Worried she would blame Sookie for the shit that'd come down on her, Tara supposed. "Milk? Lemonade? Something stronger?"

"Beer me."

"I have some Mike's Hard Lemonade… Jason had company over the weekend and he kinda cleaned me out when it comes to refreshments." Sookie started. "Oh, sorry."

Tara looked at her, trying to figure out what was wrong, before remembering she'd actually used to have a crush on Jason. Of course Sookie had known, with her mental finger in everyone's pie. God, seemed like a million years ago. What was it Jason had gotten up to since then? Something about werepanthers? Shit, this town…

"Man, I don't even have an opinion." Tara took the MHL and sucked it down like it was sugar water. "So, come on. How about you?"

"You don't wanna hear about me." Psychics. So fucking perceptive.

"Hell, hit me. It'd actually be refreshing to hear from someone whose life makes me look well-adjusted."

"Okay…" Sookie twisted her hands together and kneaded her fingers behind her back. "Well, obviously, I'm not dead. Still a fairy. Oh, did you hear about Eric getting amnesia?"

Tara made a 'bring it' gesture and grabbed another cookie.

It was a long story. Also stupid, confusing, unbelievable, and occasionally insulting, but so was life.

"I think I'll always be in love with Bill… but I'll always be in love with Eric too." Sighing: "I need to date someone normal. I wonder what Alcide's up to?"

"Alcide's a werewolf," Tara stated.

"Yes, but he turns into a normal wolf." It took her a while, but Sookie always tended to realize when she'd monopolized the conversation. She got this apologetic look in her eye and shifted the subject to whoever she was talking to. "How are you and Naomi doing, anyway?"

"We broke up."

"Oh? Too bad. She seemed…" Sookie realized she hadn't known Naomi long enough to know how she seemed. "Asian."

"Yes, she was very Asian," Tara agreed. She couldn't really think of much more to say.

Sookie bit her lip, regretting the turn the conversation had taken. "So, anyone new?"

"Actually, I was kinda hoping you could loan me one of yours…" Tara began, then laughed at the somewhat scandalized look on Sookie's face. "Nah, it's… it's complicated."

"Complicated? Oh, you mean you like someone, but you're not sure if they like you back!"

"That's not it."

"Really?" Sookie's teeth caught more of her lip. "I thought that was always what 'it's complicated' meant."

"No, that's simple, this is—also simple. I'm getting paid to…"

She trailed off, and Sookie's eyes widened trying to figure out good places for a sentence having to do with someone's love life to go from 'getting paid to'.

The doorbell rang. All at once, Sookie realized the time. The moonlight coming through the window, the crickets chirping outside. Between catching up on old times, ordering Chinese food, watching a movie on FX that Sookie had missed in theaters (being in Fairyland at the time), and checking her Facebook on Sookie's laptop, the day had just slipped by. It was night, and Tara's nights weren't hers. They were Pam's.

No. No way she was there. Not after Tara had specifically told her—

"I'll get it," Tara said, rushing to the door as fast as she could go and still technically be walking. She threw the front door open and saw Lafayette, in the usual ensemble that was just a little too floral to be stylish, Tara never being sure whether to find it an eyesore or avant-garde.

"Hey baby girl," he said, smiling widely. "Get over here. Give your cous some love, now."

She happily threw himself into his hug. Once, she might've been self-conscious about being touched so long, so openly, but apparently this latest round of shit had left her open to taking what she could when she could get it. She squeezed him back before patting him on the shoulder to let him know to let go.

"Shit, Tara, never thought I'd see you back here," he said, stepping inside and grabbing an M&M from the nearest candy dish. "I mean, _fuck. _When you lit out of this place, you lit _out._"

"Me? Weren't you going all Harry Potter last time I checked?"

"Done with that. Shit got way too serious, way too fast. The only ghosts I'm talking to anymore is rich ones who wanna tell me 'bout buried treasure; otherwise, they can keep their unresolved shit unresolved."

Tara got the door behind him. Found herself locking it. Back in the day, Granny had never locked her doors. Who would break in? "So all that Marnie shit's behind us?"

"She struck some kinda deal with the vamps, got a big pay day, not that I'm seeing any of it. But then I'm just happy there ain't _no more _bloodsuckers in my world. Need a fucking cleanse after all that shit."

Sookie came through, bearing a raspberry martini for her new guest. "Lafayette! Good, all we need is Jessica to make this a proper ladies' night."

Lafayette shook his head as he sipped. "Uh-uh. My evening is officially a vampire-free zone. And I say that with love; home girl is _styling_. But I do not need anyone tryna guess my blood type when I'm not looking."

"Fair enough," Sookie agreed. "All humans in favor of vegging out in front of the TV for the rest of the night with some of my famous caramel popcorn?"

Lafayette leaned over to Tara. "Girl's catching up on her telly from her year of 'vampire business'."

"Have you guys ever seen The Killing? It is so good, you guys…"

The doorbell rang again.

"Probably Arlene," Tara said, crossing her fingers in her pocket. "We can make this a party."

It wasn't Arlene. Tara had known that the moment she heard it. She had known Pam was coming, even when Lafayette stood in the doorway, and now she saw her in one of those dresses that would make Kerry Washington drool with envy. The only saving grace being that Sookie and Lafayette were headed to the kitchen to get the popcorn going. They couldn't see Tara go weak in the knees despite herself when those dark eyes zig-zagged over her.

"Hey IV bag," Pam drawled, fangs already flipped down.

"The fuck are you doing here?" Tara demanded. "I told you—"

"—that you would really love it if I helped you explain our arrangement to your closest friends. Don't worry, pookie, I'm here to support you in your hour of need."

"I was being sarcastic. If any motherfucker should understand that, it's you!"

"You can't blame me for not being able to keep up with your young urban slang. I only just figured out that a 'gat' wasn't a penis, and let me tell you, I liked it better the other way."

"Pam?" Sookie called, rounding the corner. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking up on my favorite consort."

"Pam, I am not your consort or anyone else's, and if you persist in talking that way in front of my friend I will ask you to leave my property!"

"I was talking _about _your friend," Pam replied, wringing the maximum amount of snideness from that correction.

"Tara?" Sookie's face turned confused and slightly ashen. Behind her, Lafayette followed. He had his hand behind his back, and there could only be a weapon there. "Tara's the last person in the world who'd have anything to do with a vampire!"

"Oh?" Pam's deadly smile surfaced again. "Fuck it, let's do the Cliff Notes version of this."

Tara felt the unimaginable power of Pam's hands as they gripped her, the incredible speed of the vampire as she spun Tara around. Then those teeth—sinking into Tara's neck like a bear-trap snapping shut. It hurt this time; maybe that was why it felt so much better than before.

When she was a little girl, Tara had had a neat trick. She blew out a candle, then she lit a match and held it to the smoke coming off the wick. Somehow the flame traveled down the smoke and relit the candle.

That was what Pam did to her. Last night, Tara had lain awake, her neck tender where Pam had bitten her despite the healing. She'd felt an anxious warmth all over her body, pooling in her groin, the continuous reminder that she hadn't just agreed to this for the money—she wanted this. Hours upon hours of temptation to go to Pam, to offer herself to her, be reclaimed. Even to masturbate. But knowing Pam would probably be able to detect that, she'd resisted—just laid there until all that heat and all that desire had become a splinter in her body that she could just ignore. Suffocated it in her darkening sleep. Until she'd waken up without it there.

But it was still there, and Pam made it tangible. She found the one last ember that still glowed a faint red and she poured gasoline all over it. The fire roared back to life. It burned Tara all up but wouldn't let her become ashes. When Pam sunk her hand between Tara's legs, the fire just kept getting hotter and hotter and hotter.

Distantly, Tara was aware that Lafayette was shouting, brandishing his knife, Sookie was holding him back. What was it she was saying?

"Lafeyette, no, stop, she's—she's okay with it!"

"The fuck you mean, 'okay with it,' the bitch is gonna suck her dry!"

"I mean she's… I can hear what she's thinking."

That was a neat trick. Tara didn't even know what she was thinking. It rushed by her too fast for her to catch a single thought. OH FUCK IT HURTS I LOVE IT PAM KEEP GOING DRINK ME BITE ME FUCK ME YES COMING I'M COMING PAM DON'T STOP I'M YOURS YOURS YOURS I'M COMING DRINK ME PAM FUCK YES KEEP GOING I'M GONNA COME PAM YES YES YES PAM HURTS FUCK GOOD DRINK COMING STOP YOURS PAM BITE FUCK I'M YES COMING PAM _PAM PAM PAM PAM!_

When Pam stopped drinking her, she already had an open wound on her hand to heal Tara's neck. Her lips were redder than lipstick with Tara's blood and she was flustered herself, blushing with stolen human warmth. "Now I've had my fill," she said softly into Tara's ear. Then she reached into her purse and hauled out an envelope. "Here's your first check, babe. Don't blow it all in one place."

With a considerate smile to Sookie and Lafayette, she set Tara down on the staircase, knowing better than to trust her legs with holding her up at the moment. Lafayette looked away, swearing softly under his breath. Sookie just stared.

"Lafayette," Pam said in greeting. "Sookie. You have a lovely house."

And she took her leave.

* * *

Tara woke up in Pam's bed; the familiar smell of ozone cluing her in. She never had been able to figure out why it smelled like that. Maybe it was a fairy thing. The faint scent launched her back to her childhood, sleepovers and hiding from her mother when Lettie Mae was on a tear.

New smell: Coffee, fresh and hot. Sookie was in the corner, holding two mugs of it. "Hey," she said, the word she used when she didn't know what else to use.

"Hey," Tara said back.

Sookie closed the distance between them almost as fast as a vampire, pressing a warm mug into Tara's hands and drinking with her. "You passed out," Sookie said, almost before she'd swallowed.

"How long?"

"A few minutes. Lafayette and I brought you up here because… well, you were indisposed."

Tara had come in her pants from having her neck stabbed. Wasn't any good way to say that. A cold shower and fresh clothes were next on her agenda. "Where is Lafayette?"

"He went off for a drive. Clear his head. It really shook him up, seeing you like that. Like this."

"It shook _him _up," Tara repeated, almost in disbelief.

"We both know it didn't shake you up. Are you _used_ to that, Tara?"

"Getting there."

"And Pam… she's paying you?"

"She's paying me _a lot_," Tara corrected.

"_Why? _Tara, if you needed the money, if you needed _anything, _I've always—"

"This ain't about you, Sook."

"So what's it about?" Sookie asked it all concerned, all helpful, all soothing. And Tara had been expecting to be judged. That was fucking frustrating. Pam had practically dared her friends to be offended by her new living situation, the way Tara had feared, and none of them were taking her up on it. They were just… wearing kid gloves.

Tara shut her eyes and ground the heels of her hands into them until even the darkness went away, replaced by bursts of color below her eyelids. "This is the best I can do. I'm never gonna make more money than this. I'm never gonna get a better girlfriend than this; and yes, I know she ain't even my girlfriend. But this—this _shit _is exactly what I deserve. It's fucked up and twisted and all _perfect _for me."

"Tara…" Sookie said in a voice so sweet it could make it all better.

"I don't get a fairy tale wedding!" Tara shouted, harsh enough to hurt her throat. "I don't get a meet-cute, I don't get chocolates on Valentine's Day, I don't get wacky misunderstandings that get resolved with a hug and a kiss. My life ain't a romantic comedy. It's blood and fucking. Maybe it could've been something else once, but now that's all I've got."

It didn't take long for Sookie's face to set with resolve. It never had. "Fine. You and Pam are a _thing. _I won't like it, but I'll accept it. But Tara—that doesn't mean you have to just roll over for her."

Tara's eyes popped open in indignation. "I ain't rolled over for no one in all my life."

"It sure looked like it from where I was standing. She waltzed into my grandma's house and laid her fangs on you like it was business as usual. I don't know what your deal is with Pam; maybe you like that sort of thing; but if you don't, the Tara I know would let that blonde witch know she has no idea who she's messing with."

Tara made herself wait before replying. "I'm a witch, she's a vampire."

"So hit her with a broomstick or something!" Sookie giggled. She turned serious. "Come on, Tara. Whatever you're going through, don't let it beat you."

Tara blinked. She didn't cry easy, but she had that itch behind her eyeballs she got when maybe she should've been crying. And she'd been so sure—so _convinced_—that Sookie would be disgusted with her. "I just don't know if she wants me as much as I want her."

That made Sookie smile; a little disconcerting. "Of course she does. How could she not?"


	6. Chapter 6

The next week passed as smoothly as blood through an IV line. Pam spent her days out and about, and her nights in Fangtasia. She was polite and respectful to Pam, while maintaining that her share of blood had been consumed for the weeks. Pam accepted this in light of how quick Tara was to provide the witty teasing Pam expected of a consort—gossiping about other species, the Authority, celebrities, and of course, Sookie. She and Bill were back together, which gave the two of them no end of joke material, although a stiff look from Tara always guided Pam away from anything too critical of her friend.

She consulted on Tara's diet to give her blood maximum flavor, setting up an appointment for the human with her own blood specialist, ordering meals for her that came with iron supplements and were rich in Vitamin D. Soon, she had Tara cooking them on her own, and would simply join the girl to make sure she didn't cheat on her new dietary plan with garlic. Tara never did.

Pam warred with herself over this honeymoon phase. On the one hand, it was only right that Tara be so courteous to her. She deserved it, as Tara's consort, and it was completely fitting that she had broken Tara in with a minimum of effort. On the other hand, she had expected more of a fight from Tara. More of a challenge. The lack of it upset her more than Tara's usual irritations would.

End of the week brought a new vibration through Pam's body. At the stroke of midnight, she'd have Tara's new and improved blood available to her once more, but first, she had to put in some face time with the yokels, Eric having ducked out. She sat in the throne and tried her best to look more mysterious and brooding than glamorous and a little hungry. Back when they first came out of the coffin, it was thrilling to strut around in public and take in the awe. But now their worship grated on her. She felt like an animal in a zoo—dangerous, perhaps, but caged by laws and public relations.

She preferred the disdain she got off Tara to the fawning she got from everyone else. It was more real. Everyone wasn't looking at her, they were looking at Dracula and Edward Cullen and Blade. Then she saw Tara.

Tara was looking at her. Judging her but not hating her. Loving her but not being ingratiating. She made her way through the dance floor, the only one who dared to stare at Pam, much less approach. Came to lean on the throne. Pam liked that. The visual. The only thing that would've been better was if Tara were on the ground, resting her head on Pam's lap. Maybe she should get her a cushion.

"Well," Pam said, low enough that under the press of the club's music, only Tara could hear her. "Finally something that looks good."

"Coming to bed?" Tara asked, and Pam's brows erupted at the open innuendo. They hadn't slept together yet. Neither of them willing to call the other's bluff and press the matter. Both of them wanting the other to give in and rip their clothes off. But this was promising.

"Shortly," Pam answered. "Guess who's nursing a beer?"

Tara looked out over the floor to see Katerina Pelham at the bar. Her club outfit was impeccable—looked like it cost more than Tara had made in the past five years, with the leather pants and flag print top putting Pam's fashion choices to shame. If Tara had fangs, they would've flipped down. Maybe Pam's already had.

"I give it another three minutes before she comes over here to 'pay homage.' When she does, I trust it'll give me a good exit line. You can head on up if you like." Pam looked Tara up and down, as if even now judging her suitability. "Start without me."

"Nah. It's almost midnight." Tara's hand dipped into her pocket. "How do you feel about opening your presents early?"

The razor blade between her thumb and forefinger flashed as it ghosted over Tara's other hand. Uncharacteristic concern flattened Pam—the thought that it would continue over Tara's wrist and hurt her to the point beyond even Pam's ability to heal. But no, she just sliced open the ball of her thumb, a thin but juicy line of blood coming up like she'd struck oil.

Tara squeezed her hand into a fist and held it up to Pam. Blood dripped out of her coiled fingers. Drip, drip, drip. The scent of it was heady. Drip, drip, drip. Pam hadn't exactly been faithful to Tara, but she had willingly gone without all night and the night before, waiting to gorge when Tara finally gave herself over.

Pam didn't let herself think about it. Fuck it, what was the point of being a vampire if you had to think about every little thing? Ignore the hunger? No, thanks. Certain no one was watching, not at the moment, she leaned in and stuck her tongue out. Blood dribbled onto the tip, missed and hit her chin, ran down her tongue. Sweet as childhood candy. The flow stopped quickly. Tara hadn't cut herself deep, not at all.

Pam gulped, but wouldn't let herself lick her lips. A vampire was never more vampire than with some blood on her mouth. "Go upstairs," she ordered Tara, "and get ready."

"I'm fine here," Tara said, and opened her hand.

The scent slid into Pam like a knife. Blood. Not a taste, not a whetting, but all the blood she could want. That kinky virgin-flavor of Tara, so strong and bold. Still warm from the vein. Flowing right out of the heart…

But now people were starting to see. Now people were staring. You didn't feed in public. It was the one masquerade left, both PR and politeness. Humans didn't see the hunger, not from the outside. They didn't find out that they were meat. They didn't get the tawdry joy of seeing their neighbors supped upon.

"Go upstairs," Pam said, serious now. Not the playful domming of before. "Now."

"You want blood, you get it right here and right now. Or don't you want it?" And Tara's hand _moved, _going to Pam's face, rubbing against her cheek—oh, the little gasp of pain when that ruptured skin was touched to Pam—the slick feel of blood like hot oil on her skin—the smell seeming to permeate right through Pam's flesh to her brain.

When Tara's hand slipped in front of Pam's mouth, she opened her lips. Tara brought the cut in and Pam licked. She kissed. She drank.

"_Bite me," _Tara ordered, her voice as thick and clouded as Pam's head. A part of Pam urged her not to, not in public, but fuck it—fuck the Authority, fuck the humans, fuck Tara. She wanted blood.

Pam popped fang and sank them into the webbing of Tara's hand. She drank deep. She felt the sweet tightness and heat of Tara's flesh around her cold fangs, warming them up with a blush that traveled through her whole dead body. People were watching. They were pointing, staring. Some took pictures. Let 'em. Let 'em see what vampires did to slutty little humans who wanted it bad enough.

Then Tara was pulling her hand away, taking the taste from Pam, and her fangs felt cold as ice in her mouth. Shamelessly, Pam licked her lips. She would've reached for Tara, but her hands were epoxied to the throne's armrests.

"Give me," Pam commanded.

"No," Tara said.

Her blood was in Pam's veins. It had turned traitor; it demanded more of itself. Literally an acquired taste. It didn't want someone else's blood. It wanted Tara, Tara, Tara, just Tara. More of her. More of that warmth. Hotter. Bloodier. The jugular. The breast. The thigh. All those veins and all that pleasure, tangling them all up until fucking and feeding were inseparable. Making Tara love that Pam was killing her, so long as she didn't finish her off.

Tara's resistance just made it harder for Pam to put her fangs away.

"You signed," Pam, who hadn't breathed in a century, was suddenly remembering what it was like to be short of breath. "Consort."

"I gave you your fill," Tara said. "You want more, ask for it."

"I want…" Pam tried to ignore all the watchers, voyeurs, _humans_. "More!"

"Say you need it."

Pam could see the blood pulsing in Tara's carotid. Her heartbeat racing. Afraid? Or getting off on this? Both, maybe. Pam could've taken her. Tara probably would've liked it, if she survived. Pam could smell the want on her. But if there were two things the Authority frowned on, it was losing control and giving control up to a human. Feeding in public could be forgiven. It was uncouth, but expected. You could watch baby vamps do it on Youtube. But an actual attack—much less letting a human see you beg? It would bring shame to her, to Eric, to Godric. She wouldn't. Not if there were a stake to her heart.

"I don't need _shit," _Pam drawled.

Tara took her hand away. Her other hand came over, cut Pam's cheek open with a ruby ring. The scratch made Pam's cunt _want. _Then she smeared her cut on Pam's, taking the blood in and healing herself. Like it'd never happened.

She walked down off the stage and went to the Katerina woman. The blonde had been sucking on the straw of her empty drink for the last five minutes.

"Wanna dance?" Tara asked, wiping off her hand with a nearby napkin.

Katerina could only nod. Pam could only watch.

* * *

The way they danced. That was what bothered Pam the most. Their bodies closing together without an ounce of the fear you felt when a predator was breathing down your throat; the heat they shared that built between them and sent drops of sweat glistening over all their bared flesh; the smiles that were lustful and open. Not at all laden with the taboo that came with Pam's lovemaking. They were so… human.

Tara didn't belong in that world. She belonged in Pam's. That world had abused her, exploited her, ignored her, just as it had Pam back when she still breathed. It didn't deserve her. And what pissed Pam off the most was that Tara would mistake the human world's neglect for freedom, and Pam's protectiveness for obsession. Was it obsession to keep a gem safe, shining, perfect? No. It was only good investment.

Pam got up from her throne and stalked through the dance floor, humans parting before her like squirrels ran when a hunter was coming through. Their heat brushed off her like a slight breeze, but Tara and Katerina's settled into her like she thought the sun must've, all those years ago.

"Did you want to dance," she asked them both, her words piercing Katerina to get to Tara, "or are you just going to rub your skin together all night to see if something fun happens?"

"What are you asking me to do, the Charleston?" Tara demanded.

Pam smiled from one of them to the other. "I'm vampire, Tara. There's no need to leave one of you out when you're both so… appetizing. I can handle both of you."

She stuck her arms out, skating them over the humans' arms to take their hands. Squeezed, then got a more solid grip on their wrists. Began to twist, swaying their arms to orbit the both of them around her, until she'd built up a good momentum, rhythm. Like spinning plates she kept them circling her, too fast to touch each other, only able to wait until she plucked them from their three-way waltz to feel and chill. Her icy fingers running over their exposed skin, the perfect counterpoint to all that nasty hot sweat. She kept them both on the brink, switching from one to another just when her present human was getting too excited. Until finally she abandoned Tara to wrap both arms around Katerina, dipping her until her hair brushed the floor, running fingers of winter down the front of her body. Between her breasts, over her groin—the only warmth left exposed, her hammering heart.

"Come away with me," she whispered into the adrenaline-tinged sweat lying stillborn on Katerina's pretty face. "I will show you pleasures no human in your lifetime has yet known."

"Room for one more?" Tara asked, gripping Pam from behind—her hands hot and strong on Pam's hips.

Pam grinned over her shoulder. "Always. If the two of you can share little ol' me."

"I think it's us who's gonna be sharin' her."

Pam dragged Katerina up to her feet. The girl sagged into her, weak in the knees. "However you wanna say it, sweetheart, we're making a Ritz sandwich."

"A what?"

"A Ritz sandwich?" Pam jerked her head at Tara, who was becoming leery. "Two crackers with some chocolate in between?"

"Ritz sandwiches have cheese in them."

"You can put chocolate between them," Pam protested.

"No offense," Katerina piped up, "but that sounds really gross."

"Fuck it, let's fuck."

* * *

Pam could've taken them to Tara's room, which had been designed as a love nest, or to her own coffin, which was plush enough to be at least as conductive to fucking as your average bathroom. But she led them by the hand, like little girls, to the door that everyone knew went down to the dungeon. Pam wanted it known what would be happening behind closed doors. She was practically selling tickets.

At the bottom of the stairs, all three stopped to look at where they'd landed—Pam planning her latest depravity, Tara and Katerina thinking variations of a theme… arousal and fear. Katerina tended toward the latter, Tara the former. Pam splayed either hand on the back of their necks, taking in their warmth and killing it with her cold. She brought them both to her lips, each in turn—making Tara wait, then indulging her after Katerina. Then she pushed them both together and watched how they tasted each other… soft, succulent, boring. But a nice little something to whet her appetite. She couldn't wait to turn their softcore into wild, animalistic lust.

With one last push to either of them, they walked through the dungeons—the rows of sex toys, the swings, the rubber suits, all the little tools of pleasure that had been sampled over the years gathered into one place—and came to the most useful tool of all. The Murphy bed that Pam pulled out of the wall to extend almost phallically across the floor.

Katerina moved to sit down, but Pam stopped her, hand in her hair. "No clothes on the bed," she said, and raked her nails over Katerina's blouse. She went hard enough to pain Katerina through her clothes, fray the fabric, and Tara moved ahead of her. Peeling Katerina's clothes off her body before Pam could rip them off. Then she stepped back to see her, all curves and sin—Pam enjoying the same view.

"I really never do this sort of thing," Katerina said, shy but unashamed. She busied her hands like she was washing them with invisible soap. "I mean, I've had sex with vampires before, but Mr. Compton is really cute—I don't consider myself some sort of slutty—"

"Stop talking," Pam said.

They undressed on either side of her, racing. Pam, of course, was naked first, but she just stood there as Tara finished stripping and tackled Katerina to the bed in her excitement. Pam looked on like a proud parent. She wondered how much of the hunger Tara displayed she had instilled in her, and how much had been there to draw her to Tara in the first place. Then she leaned in, pushed Tara aside, and devoured Katerina's lips herself.

It was Tara's turn to watch now, to see how Pam mounted Katerina and kissed her with almost the same passion she had shown Tara. Almost, but not quite. Maybe that was wishful thinking. But when Katerina came up for air and Pam's wine-red lips were empty, Tara could see her fangs weren't down. Not like when she kissed Tara, and Tara had to be so careful to keep from nicking her tongue.

Pam moved lower, unable to maintain an interest in Katerina's face, lovely as it was, when the magnificence of her tits was right there. Tara could've giggled. Pam was pretty much a teenage boy when it came to tits. A hundred years old and she still couldn't get over a nice pair of them.

While Katerina softly moaned, anxious and delighted by the way Pam nipped at her breasts, Tara moved in, wiped her thumb across her lips to clear away that god-awful drag queen balm Pam used, and kissed her like she was showing Pam how it was done. Katerina groaned into her mouth, either from Tara's tongue or Pam's teeth, and Tara wished she knew which it was.

Then Pam was pulling her away, actually putting her hand on Katerina's face to shift her weight there as she kissed Tara. The contact hotly cold, with Tara exploring Pam's mouth like it was new territory, finding, as she'd hoped, the little ice cubes of her fangs among the other teeth that seemed so human. She pricked her tongue on one, felt the blood well, painted it onto the roof of Pam's mouth and felt the vampire quake like she was taking a drug.

And Tara slipped away from her to embrace Katerina, cupping her ass as she necked her—biting down on Katerina's throat with her flat, herbivore teeth. The pressure containing no pain, but not much pleasure either. Just something to gather more of those breathy white-girl moans that Katerina was so good at.

In a moment, she saw Pam across from her, on the other side of Katerina's perfect body. The blonde was running her lips over her half of Katerina, from shoulder to neck, ghosting her mouth across some invisible vein. Katerina mewled and shook, but it wasn't for her, Tara didn't think. Until it was, and Pam was pushing Tara aside to straddle Katerina. Backwards.

"I hope she's a better lizzie-licker than you, sweetness," Pam said, aiming her amicable sneer at Tara and shaking her rump. "Maybe I could give her a few lessons…"

Her head bent lower. Lower. Somehow not at all like bowing, but entirely like a cat going for a bowl of milk, the way she hunched possessively between Katerina's spread thighs. Her tongue blurred as it approached Katerina's core.

Tara moved to the other side of the sixty-nine, where Katerina was gazing up at Pam's sex with something like adoration. Pam had shaved her pubic hair into the shape of two Dracula fangs. Katerina stuck out her tongue like she was trying to catch a snowflake, Pam still shimmying her ass down when Tara interposed herself between the two, sucking Katerina's tongue into her mouth, grabbing her tit to make it official.

Pam obviously wasn't happy. She kept trying to lower her pussy down into the middle of the action, and Tara kept shouldering it aside. Then she clearly started using Katerina's anatomy as a lollipop, because Katerina stopped kissing Tara to just moan and groan and moan. Tara kept trying to kiss her, but Katerina was eternally open-mouthed from the yowling she was doing. It was like trying to French a hole in the wall. So Tara moved down to repeat her necking act from earlier, figuring she'd impress Pam… Katerina… _whoever_, that way.

Then she felt Pam's pelvis brush against her hair as it came down to use Katerina's face as a throne, and pin Tara to her clavicle. Tara was left out again, and she was _not _cool with that. Not when _she _was Pam's consort, whatever the fuck that was, and _not Katerina._

Tara aggressively _rammed _herself up into Pam's midsection, pushing her up off Katerina to make room for Tara to slide in. She had Katerina under her, and wasn't quite sure what to do with her, when Pam brought her hips down like she was riding a bucking bronco. Tara ended up pinned between Pam's legs along with Katerina; that was when she realized what she wanted.

Her and Katerina's hands slipped over Pam, pulling her open and holding her tight as they both licked at her pussy. For the first time Tara could recall, Pam let out an aggressive moan. Sounded like a pig giving birth, but Tara didn't care. She kept licking, kept sucking, and when Katerina tried to turn it into a kiss with Tara, Tara elbowed her back and kept licking and kept sucking.

"Oh fuck, you little human bitches…" Pam was facedown on the bedspread, panting into the silk sheets. "You're in your fucking twenties and already you've got no goddamn class. It used to be you had to be a vampire for at least a couple decades before you started in on the threesomes and shit, but you modern women are just sluts right off the bat…"

Now Tara rolled herself on top of Pam, along with Katerina. She held Pam's labia open and fucked her tongue into it. No lovemaking, no romance, just the hard stuff. Katerina tried to get in on the act, even kissed Tara's cheek a few times trying to get her to calm down, but Tara grabbed her by the hair and pulled hard. Katerina didn't give her any trouble after that.

Pam was still talking. "You're the sluttiest… skankiest… most sexed up… fucking… fucking probably done anal…" Not talking _well, _but talking. "Oh fuck, you're making me come. I can't believe this, you fucking—"

All of that just spurred her on. Tara was gluttonous, burying her mouth in Pam's slit like she had five seconds to eat a slice of cake, no technique, just gobbling everything she could. "Oh my," Tara heard, and looked up briefly to see that Katerina had gotten a good vantage point sitting on the pillows, started to touch herself. Fuck her. Let her watch. Tara tried to force herself further into Pam, wanted to know what her fucking ovaries tasted like, pulled up Pam's right leg to get it wishboned under her arm and then smacked Pam's exposed ass with her hand.

Pam was through talking shit. Now she seemed to be hyperventilating. She came, not that Tara was in any state to realize it. All Tara knew was that Pam's cunt tasted a little more like a penny than usual for a sec. She kept licking, kept slapping Pam's ass, only stopped when that lightning bolt in her own cunt stopped playing around and demanded to hit something.

Tara let Pam flop down to the bed, practically threw her down, then scrambled up to mount her face. Pam didn't have to be told twice what to do; didn't have to be told once. She stuck out her tongue and Tara grabbed her hair and rocked on her face like a supermarket ride. Tara came pretty fast. It was the look in Pam's eyes, shooting up at her—the usual hunger, but different now. Not a predator's hunger, but something desperate, starving. More vulnerable, less controlled. It got off Tara faster than a Hitachi. She let go of Pam and the vampire went down dead to the world, breathing like she'd run a marathon—muscle memory.

Tara looked at Katerina. The blonde had added a finger since she'd seen her last. "Quit touching yourself," Tara commanded her. "That's what we're here for. Get down on the bed and spread your legs."

Pam was recovering by then—a vampire could only be taken out of commission for so long. Trying to calm her unnecessary breathing, she sat up with a smirk on her face for some witty bullshit, but Tara cut her off at the pass.

"You, bride of Dracula-you drink the bitch, I'll eat her."

"And why should I do that?" Pam asked, not thinking to put the usual 'instead of ripping your throat out?' undertones into the words.

Tara grabbed her by the throat. Spotted the excitement in her eyes. "Because I'm your fucking consort."


	7. Chapter 7

Katerina left in the early hours of the morning, her coat wrapped tightly around her despite the rising sun and her hair let down to hide her bandaged neck. She wondered how to update her Facebook status.

Tara was still in the Murphy bed in the fucking sex dungeon—screw it, it was comfortable and she was too messed up to move. Stroke of genius on Pam's part, having an intercom installed in the SD so she could order some blooded wine from the kitchen. It was two percent Tru Blood—tasted weird and wasn't too nutritious for human or vampire, but it got the job done. Tara nestled herself into a surprisingly comfortable pillow that just might have been possible to fuck, going by the holes designed into it.

Pam was the same way—comfortably lazy from the wine and from drinking Tara and from drinking Katerina. She'd promised Tara five hundred dollars if the human let her sleep using her ass for a pillow. She was getting every cent out of it, staying up past her coffin-time until her eyes were red-rimmed—doing her mascara no favors. For the thousandth time, she rubbed her face over the contours of Tara's bare ass, reaching up for the other cheek with her left hand.

"Not a roll of Charmin," Tara reminded her, and Pam snatched her hand back. Still, Tara hadn't said anything about kissing.

"What're you going to do in the sunlight?" Pam asked, off the pleasurable little shudder that went through Tara. "I don't want to know, I just want you to tell me."

"I don't know. Corner Lafayette, I guess. Get him to see we're not in a Lifetime movie here." Tara pulled her bed sheets closer around herself. Hadn't been that long ago she had been in the Lifetime movie. _Mother, May I Sleep With Franklin: A Dumb Bitch's Story._

Pam made a quiet tear in the blanket. Tara hadn't been able to get comfortable without wrapping herself in a blanket, which obviously restricted Pam's access to her backside. They'd compromised on Pam ripping a hole in the sheet and, cold-blooded, lying atop the bedspread. The hole kept getting bigger, though.

The vampire reseated herself, her head on Tara's hip now that the human had twisted around. "Didn't know you were the kind of woman who needed a man's approval to do what she wanted."

"He ain't '_ah mahn_.'" Tara had gotten good at repeating Pam's Sahara-dry enunciation. "He's my family. Or haven't you talked this shit over with _Eric…"_

Pam's brow furrowed. "I may have brought up the possibility with him; I don't recall. But it was mostly a spur-of-the-moment sorta thing." Again, Pam tried her hand at groping Tara. This time, Tara sighed, both in frustration at Pam's antics and a little bit of pleasure. At least Pam had learned not to squeeze like she was smuggling stress balls up her ass.

Tara continued, "Lala's gotta know I'm not getting fucked up, for once. You don't care enough to abuse me."

"One of the many benefits of not caring about shit." Boring of Tara's ass, for the moment, Pam gave it one last pat. "Yes, let's calm your man-kissing cousin down before he joins another terrorist plot against vampirekind."

Tara rolled up so fast that Pam pitched facefirst into the mattress. She came up to see Tara glaring at her like the goddamn Devil. "Pam, shut the fuck up."

At the rancor in her voice, Pam's fangs automatically came down—and yet, Pam said "Sorry," mush-mouthed with the fangs in her mouth. It was hard to sound apologetic with razors coming out of your gums.

"Yeah. Sore subject, is all."

Tara relaxed against her pillow again, but Pam didn't chance getting any more of her money's worth. She sidled upward until she was lying down across from Tara. She would've liked to have touched Tara's hair, wild as it was, frothing across the pillow like a wave hitting a big rock—that would be Tara's head in this analogy—but Pam didn't think Tara would appreciate it when she was on her 'humans first, vampires last' train of thought.

"Speaking of humans, you plannin' on paying Katerina a courtesy call?"

Tara decided to pay no more attention to Pam than necessary, snuggling into her pillow with eyes closed like she wasn't there. "What are you supposed to do for someone after they donate blood? Chocolate chip cookies?"

"Some vampires bake cookies for their humans. It's all very... mushy."

"That mean I can't expect anything from you in the oven?"

"I'll buy you some Oreos." Pam still wasn't sure about touching Tara, so she did it with her eyes. Tracing the lines of her face, those strong features that she had once considered handsome, now beautiful. "Y'know, you could ask her out."

Tara's eyes opened in surprise. "Who?"

"Katerina. She seemed amicable to you. And she's not bad-looking for a human." Pam had liked eying Tara without her knowledge, but now she could look into the woman's eyes and see... stuff. "There's nothing in our contract says you can't date."

Tara scoffed. "Girl's a fang-banger. She didn't want me, she just wanted to be fucked and sucked."

Pam's voice did something funny as it came out her mouth. "You have no idea how appealing you can be, do you?" And just like that, her voice was normal again. "When you're not being a total bitch, obviously."

Tara just breathed for long stretches of moments, almost like she didn't want to remind Pam she was there. Finally: "You might be pretty 'appealing' too, if you ever stopped being a bitch."

"Guess we'll never know then."

"Guess not."

Pam was getting bored of this-or of not being bored by it. This electric feeling that came from Tara speaking so openly to her-comparatively speaking-was new and Pam didn't know if she liked it. Didn't know if she wanted to like it.

This was pointless. She was staying up, bleeding out her eyeballs to talk to _food. _The sooner she got to her coffin, the sooner it'd be night, the sooner she'd be eating and fucking. Things that mattered.

She got up, grabbing one of the robes they kept in every room of Fangtasia. "I need my beauty sleep."

"Damn straight," Tara quipped.

Pam gave her the finger as she walked away.

* * *

"Alright, now I'm concerned," Eric said the next evening.

Stacked right outside their prestigious club, so that customers had to skirt around it to get in, was a pyramid of boxes. Tara had taken no time in updating her address.

Pam picked up one, opened it, and looked inside. "_The Wolfman. _Yes, that is disconcerting. It's the remake, too… Just put it all in Tara's room."

"It's locked. And she won't answer."

Pam shrugged. "Then put them in the sex dungeon."

"Pam, you know how I feel about clutter. We specifically set aside the basement for kinky sex. Once we start setting stuff down there, 'just for now,' things will just keep piling up until I have to explain to women why there's a canoe in the corner while I whip them. Do you want that?"

"I'll put it on the roof. Unless you need that to gaze at the stars with whatshername—starts with an S? Ends in an EEE sound?"

Eric was not amused. "Come to my office when you're done."

* * *

It'd been a while since Pam had been to Eric's office. He'd finally taken down that nude portrait of himself. Shame—it really tied the room together.

She took up her customary chair across from him, putting her feet up on his knee. It was a surprisingly comfortable arrangement for both of them—intimate but with enough distance to be respectable.

"So, your contract," Eric began. "Reasonable terms?"

Pam crossed her ankles carefully. "Reasonable enough."

"Then it's your business, as is how you spend your time. Unless you want my opinion on the matter?"

Pam grinned. The problem with him getting his memory back; he knew her a little too well. "I'm going to get it whether I ask or not."

"Yes, but you _could _admit you want it."

"Never."

"Then grin and bear it." Eric took hold of her foot and kneaded it as he spoke, casually intimate. "I've never known you to be enamored of a human. Even from your first year as a vampire, you seemed disdainful of your former species."

"People change."

"We don't." Eric held up the cold flesh of his hand. "We're eternal. Unmoving. Inexorable."

"So why were you so fixed on Sookie? You've always been the romantic type, but that shit was taking it to another level."

Eric shook his head. "Those grand gestures aren't my style, and never will be again. A lapse in judgment, we'll call it. But… though we do not change, often, it is others that change us. We must explore newness, otherwise these bodies of ours are simply tombstones that mark the possibilities once open to us. Becoming Sheriff of Louisiana, Fangtasia, you… all setting apart my future from my past. Keeping me from simply marking time."

"I quite like being unchanging. I've always considered myself perfect the way I am."

He smiled to himself. "I'm quite fond of your state as well. But don't let the things that can change you slip by. Give them their chance. See what you becomes. We have millennia of experiments to perform on our own existence. I won't speak to your feelings for the girl, but if she's special enough to be worth even a handful of your life's time, let her know it. In your own way, of course."

"She's meat," Pam said, correcting him with a small hint of protest. "I like the way she tastes and she's willful enough to give me a challenge, not like these fangbangers that roll over for me to scratch their bellies."

An eyebrow lifted on Eric's impassive face. "Then let her challenge you. You have time."

"I'll mark you down as approving, then." Pam stood, taking a deep breath—a trace habit from her days of humanity.

"Pam?" Eric called gently, after she'd taken a few steps. "If we're speaking of her as a challenge, what happens if she wins?"

* * *

Pam went to Tara's room and knocked on the door.

"Your shit's on the roof. I know you're probably gagging for me, but we're going to need to get it inside before we get down to business."

There was no answer. Pam rolled her eyes and took out her cell phone to try Tara's. She heard it ringing inside the room, but it wasn't answered.

Pam knocked again. "I'm serious. Open the door. If it rains and all your books get wet, it'll just put me in a bad mood. I'm funny that way."

The room was dead air. Pam kept knocking as she spoke. "I am respecting your privacy by knocking but I am also going to break this fucker down. Tell yourself it's because I'm worried you had a stupid human aneurysm."

After a last few knocks, Pam balled her fist tighter and punched through the doorknob. It shot right out of the door and onto the floor. Pam pushed her way into the room.

"I can have that fixed very quickly," she said to empty air. "Within the hour."

Tara wasn't there. It was easy to tell, once the heavy mahogany wood of the door was out of the way. Pam looked around, blurring from one place to another, checking for any sign of her. She came to the sleek black desk, finding traces of Tara's warmth still gently present, and some papers marring the clean lines of the writing surface. Pam buzzed through them like a chainsaw. It was their contract.

Tara had voided it.


	8. Chapter 8

Pam broke into Eric's office like a SWAT team, cursing up a storm right up until she drove her fist into the wall. "I'm gonna kill that little bitch!"

Jessica, who was sitting in front of Eric's desk, squeaked like a mouse. Behind his desk, Eric showed no more distress than if Pam had simply paged him.

"Relationship woes, I take it?"

"No shit!"

He folded his hands. "Then may I also assume there's a reason you're putting holes in my lovely wall and not, for instance, breaking Tara's things?"

"It hasn't been thirty days. I can still get my money back on most of it."

"Ah."

By now, Jessica was looking around frantically. "Wait, who's getting killed?"

Eric spoke over her. "At the moment, I'm discussing a personal matter with Miss Hamby..."

Despite herself, Pam's eyebrows jerked upward like it'd been caught by a fishhook. "Your hymen?"

Jessica went pale, even for a redhead. "How did you-"

"What else could it be? Listen, you want the damn thing gone for good, fuck a werepanther. Old home remedy."

Eric shook his head. "That's an old wives' tale. What you do is take a douche-soak in vinegar..."

"Wait," Pam said, "the feminine hygiene product or just someone who wears Ed Hardy?"

"Are you gonna kill Tara?" Jessica cried, fed up with their interplay.

Like a bad actor prompted to stay in-character, Pam snapped into rage. "Damn right I'm gonna kill her!" Pam's voice was becoming shrill, and she was never shrill, but this seemed to warrant it. "I'm taking her guts and turning them into balloon animals! I'll lather her blood onto my skin like it's Chanel No. 5! I'll use her eyeballs as earrings! I'll… I'll…" Now, like someone had hit a remote control, Pam's voice dropped several pitches. "Well, goddamnit Eric, don't you have anything to say or am I talking to a pile of hair gel?"

Eric spoke, infuriatingly so cool that it was impossible to tell whether he was being sarcastic or not. "No, go right ahead. I'm sure the Authority won't miss one wayward human. We can dispose of her quite easily, if it comes to that, and it's not as if she'll be missed. So if it would make you feel better, by all means, make her disappear."

Pam stared at him, hands on her hips, aghast. He stared back, smiling pleasantly.

"Pam!" Jessica cried, oblivious to their staring contest. "You can't just kill Pam! She's such a good friend and a good person and—I thought you liked her?"

"Liked her!?" Pam's head jerked back like she'd smelled something awful. "She's a human!"

"So? Sookie's been in love with humans, and shifters, and werewolves, and vampires!"

Pam automatically flipped her head at the mention of Sookie's name, like she'd gotten water in her ear. "The last thing I need is a lecture on inter-species relationships from a baby vamp."

"But you _like _her!"

"I do not!" Pam crossed her arms primly. "I don't like anyone."

"You like Eric!" Jessica protested.

"Yes," Eric said, sounding richly amused, "don't you like me?"

"You're an asshole," Pam replied without missing a beat. "You're just my asshole, is all."

"So why can't Tara be your, uh…" Jessica reached up to grasp a lock of her hair, giving it a short tug. "Something?"

"Because she voided the goddamn contract! She doesn't wanna be my consort!"

"And you care," Eric finished for her. "Since when do you care about things, Pam? As you said, she's human. A mayfly. Blink and she'll be dust in the ground. Why bother getting blood on your nice clothes?"

"I'll wear a sweatsuit."

Eric blinked calmly. "Love makes us do funny things."

"I don't love her." Pam swiveled to Jessica. "I don't even like her! I just want her to know it fucking matters-that she left me." Back to Eric: "It's… it's a fucking disgrace, that's what it is! Ingratitude! I gave her a home, money, sex—what more does her tiny human brain want?"

Jessica bit her lip as she rocked on her heels a little. Even she was beginning to see the folly of poking the bear on this one. "Maybe, in-between all the showing her… whatever it is you're showing her… you could just tell her?"

"Tell her _what? _That I want to dress in matchy outfits and adopt a Korean together? I've killed more people than swine flu." Jessica let out a little gasp. "Most of them were dicks," Pam added. "Point is, I'm not the fuckin' romantic type."

"That's good; you don't have to be. You just have to let Tara go."

"I don't _wanna_." As if realizing how childish she was sounding, Pam drew herself up to her full height. "Does anyone in this room realize how _embarrassing _it would be if my former consort went off and bunked with God knows who? Walking around arm in arm, going to carnivals together, snookering on the Ferris wheel…"

Pam's reference pool was a bit out of date, but Jessica took her meaning. "I, ummm—I really don't think anyone would mind that much. Except for you, I mean. I mean… well…"

Pam was glaring at her. "What do you mean, _kid?"_

"I just mean that you really seem to care if Tara is dating or not, but you _said _you didn't care…"

Pam threw her hands up. "I just don't want to see her dancing with some knuckle-dragger the next time I'm trying ta eat! But I guess it doesn't bother anyone else is Tara fucking Thornton is screwing everyone in this lousy town but me!"

"Not really," Eric muttered. He was checking his phone.

Pam reached for it, thought better of it, and instead just mimed snatching it up and throwing it against the wall. Eric pretended not to notice. Jessica, holding her hands behind her back, knotted them tighter together.

"You don't… you know… have to say whether you care about her or if you don't or whatever… I just think that you'd be happier if she were happy, off doing whatever, then if she were dead in a ditch somewhere."

"A river," Eric corrected idly.

Jessica shivered. "So, uh—Hoyt and I had our problems, and we didn't work them out, and it really sucked, but… now he's off somewhere, and he's cool and I'm cool, and so…" Jessica paused, kinda hoping she'd gotten the message across.

She hadn't. "_Yes?_" Pam prompted.

"Like I said, it sucks that I'm not the one who's gonna make him happy, because I really thought I would be, but sometimes the best way to make someone happy is to let someone else make them happy. At least, that's what I think. I hope it holds for your homosexual relationship as well."

Pam rolled her eyes. "Fine! Since y'all begged so much, I'll leave Tara alone."

"I didn't beg," Eric pointed out. He had started a game of Candy Crush.

"But she," Pam continued, finger raised, "is missing out on the fuck of a lifetime. I hadn't even gotten _started _with her. She thought threesomes were something? I could've taken her to a goddamn orgy!"

Jessica shuffled her feet. "I didn't technically ask to know that?"

"Didn't even use the sex dungeon, really. Might as well have just been a mattress on the floor. Mattress dungeon," Pam muttered. Then she quickly wiped at her eye. It seemed she'd gotten something in it.

Jessica spread her arms slightly. "Do you need a… no. Guess not."

"I'm gonna fuck someone," Pam declared, striding for the door. "And I'm gonna eat someone. Not sure on the order."

She slammed the door behind her, which was barely enough to get Eric to look up. "Cracked the doorframe. I really should hire better contractors. Non-union… you get what you pay for." He set his phone down. "Well, Jessica, I think that went rather well, considering murder is no longer being plotted. We make a pretty good team."

Jessica had found an old picture of Eric and President Clinton on an endtable. She stared into it. "How did you get your hair to have so much volume?"

* * *

Pam's night turned around fast. Soon, she had a particularly handsome man in her sights, sending him just enough drinks to ply him out of his fear so she could get him alone for some blood-'sharing', as the PC term went. Of course, Tara was still in her thoughts. She wanted to hunt the bitch down, rip her clothes off, bite her neck, show her how much she 'cared' or whatever. But that would be embarrassing for both of them. And probably fatal for one of them. Pam wasn't quite sure who it would be…

Didn't matter. She might not be able to suppress the thought of Tara, but she could push it away, bury it in blood and sex like she had everything else. Her parents, her brothers, her sisters, her children who never were. All sloughed off, carried away in the stream of immortality. Tara was just one more piece of debris.

That was what Pam thought until she saw her. Sitting at the bar, drinking a Mojito like she didn't have one goddamn care in the world. And something rushed into Pam, like a dam had broken without her ever knowing it was there. Suddenly, she wanted to crawl to Tara, beg her to come back, kiss her feet and rub her back. The only thing that Pam knew for sure was stopping her was how fucking pissed she was.

She stalked to the bar, not on her knees but on the very top of her high heels, and brandished herself beside Tara the way a mugger might take out a blade. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Tara had the audacity to _roll her eyes _when she looked at Pam. "Believe it or not, Pam, I can't wait all day in your bed, butt-naked with a riding crop in my teeth, hoping for you to grace me with your presence."

"Get out."

"I haven't finished my drink—"

"I said," Pam was very proud of how even her voice was, how it stayed the same even as she swept Tara's glass off the bar and let it crash to the floor. "Get. Out."

Pam popped up like a champagne cork. "Do vampires get PMS? Because other than that, I have no idea the fuck's wrong with you."

"What's wrong with _me?_" Realizing people were watching—how could they not, a vampire and another woman airing their dirty laundry—Pam leaned in and lowered her voice. "If you wanna blow every asshole in the great state of Louisiana, be my guest. But don't do it in my bar. I don't fuckin' like the feeling."

Tara's voice lowered too. Not into a deadly whisper. But softly, with care and concern that hit Pam like a battering ram. "Pam, I don't know what you're talking about. I haven't been with anyone but you other than Katerina, and that was your idea, so unless that was supposed to be some fucked-up test—"

"I saw the contract," Pam interrupted.

That shut Tara up. Pam was a little surprised to find that was possible.

"You were in my room?" Tara said thoughtlessly, one of those little sounds the brain makes when it's been disconnected.

"No, I was in my room. The one I _gave _to you." And despite herself, Pam felt like she owed Tara an iota of explanation. "You got a bunch of deliveries. There was nowhere else to put them, so I went into your room. I was gonna replace the fucking doorknob, but now I guess it doesn't matter."

Tara's brain was still playing outside. "Deliveries got here fast," she muttered, before shaking her head. Pam recognized the look that now filled her eyes. That _no-no-no-no _that people got when they thought they were about to die. Pam was offended. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way."

"Well, I did." Pam felt something in her eye again, but she left it there. Let Tara see her cry. Let her know that was how goddamn pissed off she was. "So you don't want me. Fine. I don't give a shit. Just don't make me fucking look at you, Tara; _I don't want to."_

"Pam," Tara said softly, and her voice was doing something Pam didn't recognize, didn't want to think about. It was a little like how she'd talked about Naomi once. "It's not what you think. Let me explain…"

Pam smiled humorlessly. "Worried I'll hurt you, little human, is that it? Don't be. Just stay out of my fucking sight and we'll call it even. I don't want to hear whatever sob story you've got."

"Pam," Tara repeated. She sounded even more… vulnerable, was it? Something.

It hurt. It hurt in a way Pam couldn't quite define.

"The management," Pam forced out, "reserves the right to refuse service to anyone—"

"_For fuck's sake, Pam, will you fucking shut the fuck up and let me talk!?"_

The entire bar had been straining closer, trying to hear their hushed conversation; now they collectively drew back, each of them expecting varying degrees of violence. A slap. A punch. A bite. Even in front of witnesses, even on camera, even with the Authority itself in the room, there was only so far you pushed a vampire. And everyone recognized what the breaking point looked like.

But Pam just crossed her arms, one cheek split by a line of red, and said "_What?_" like it was the only question she could ever want answered.

Tara shook her head. "I voided the contract because I don't want to be your fucking consort. I want to be your fucking girlfriend."

Pam blinked a few times. "What?" she repeated. This time her voice cracked.

Tara took a deep breath. "I always thought I was just a meal to you. Then, when we were with Katerina—_that _was a fucking meal. You didn't care who she was or where she went, just as long as you got what you needed from me. But me… Pam, you stayed with me, you talked to me… you actually gave a shit, as impossible as you'd like to say that is for you. We've both had this thing between us for so long, and tried to pretend it's something it's not. Blackmail, 'consortium'… I have feelings for you, Pam, and you have feelings for me. You gonna try and deny it?"

"No," Pam said blankly. One of those sounds you make when your brain's been disconnected.

"So I don't wanna say we're 'consorts' when that's not what we are and not what we want. If the label doesn't fucking fit us, I don't want it. I just want you. I don't give a shit what they call it."

Pam's tears had run over the corner of her mouth. She automatically flicked her tongue out to lick them away, and tasted her own blood. It was bitter. All the sweetness of other people was absent. "But you… but you voided the contract. You _left._" Pam tried to be accusatory, but it came out more like a puzzle piece that wouldn't fit into a nearly complete picture.

And Tara—her Tara—made it fit. "I told you, I went to see Lafayette. He got into all kinds of shit with a ghost, getting possessed and shit, and I was up all night bailing him out. That's why I needed a fucking drink." Drained, Tara sat back down, in Pam's shadow. "He says to tell you if you treat me bad, he'll write nasty stuff about your hair online."

"Your cousin was possessed by a ghost," Pam repeated.

"You don't believe me?"

"Of course I believe you; this fucking town…"

"I know, right?" Tara slapped the bar. "I never meant to make you think…"

"Don't you ever scare me like that again," Pam ordered, towering over her where she sat. "Not _ever._"

"I'm sorry," Tara said. She took Pam's hand and squeezed it. Her hand was so warm when it covered Pam's cold skin. Like a thick blanket in winter. "Wanna go out on a fucking date, you vampire fuck?"

"Only cuz you're asking nicely." Pam sagged into a chair beside her, gestured to the bartender. "Barkeep! Why am I paying you to stand around like a jackass? Get the lady a fucking drink." She stared out at the crowd, suddenly minding their obvious eavesdropping. "The rest of you, move the fuck along or I'll Glamour the lot of you into liking Ryan Reynolds _way _too much."

The crowd dispersed, quite fast. Tara took her drink, showing graciousness to the chagrinned bartender to make up for how short Pam had been. And Pam felt like she once had when she took a deep breath after being underwater until her human lungs were fit to burst. It was more than relief. It was a need she'd felt for Tara, so deep she hadn't even been able to name it until now. When it was fulfilled.

She wasn't sure if she loved Tara. She wasn't sure if she even cared about her. All she did know was that she liked this feeling, this drug that came packaged in Tara's small smiles and weary laughter, that she was already addicted to it far more than blood, because going without blood would kill her, while going without Tara made her feel like the kind of soulless thing the bigots always claimed her kind were.

For years she'd been a survivor, a rogue, the only thing that defined her beyond herself was her connection to Eric—an alliance of convenience. Important, but able to fade into the background when she didn't want to tend to it. And now she found herself with a need. A need that, entirely through misunderstanding, had stripped her of control, dignity, and happiness. It scared her, this change that made her vulnerable where she was once immortal. A little burst of sunlight in her eternal light. It could burn her, it could kill her—but it was so fucking warm, too.

She had changed, since she'd met Tara. And she liked it.

There Tara was, just sipping her drink, completely unaware of the seismic shift that had rippled through her lover. That was alright. It was something she could find out for herself, in the days and weeks to come. For now, Pam would keep this joy—the joy of simply watching a loved one drink a shitty overpriced Mojito—all for herself.

"So you thought I'd left your ass," Tara said, "and all you were going to do was stop me from paying for your shitty overpriced drinks?"

"Is that surprising?" Pam asked. "It's not like you're a big spender."

"It's not that." Tara laughed to herself and made Pam's world a little brighter. "I half-thought if I ever left you, you'd rip my head off or some horror movie shit like that."

Pam's brow furrowed. "I would never—well, if you'd heard me venting fifteen minutes ago, you'd have needed a fresh pair of panties and not in a good way. But I'm not some human. I don't feel the need to tell someone I love them and prove it by hurting them. It's… _déclassé._"

"You big softy," Tara enunciated dryly.

"Don't get me wrong, I'm very open to killing people. It's just tacky to do it to someone you've been fucking. Bad for the relationship."

"So we're in a relationship now," Tara said, and it wasn't quite a question.

"I suppose. If you insist. I don't care one way or another."

"Say I'm your girlfriend, we can go downstairs and fuck right now."

Pam looked her dead in the eye, as directly as she would to Glamour someone. "I'm your girlfriend."

"Damn right." Tara finished her drink. "Come on then. I can tell you all about my adventure with ghosts while you're cuddling my ass like the big sap you are."

Pam gave her a little shove to hurry her along. "Speaking of what you've got in those jeans, I really hope you aren't planning on sittin' down anytime soon. Remember, girlfriend…" Her fangs dropped. "You still owe me your ass."


End file.
